I am extremely pleased to begin this story with you.

Cooper's journey is the most rewarding thing I've written.

 

 

 

B O O K F I V E

 

Coffee at 9

© By Timothy Lane

 

February

My friends let me talk. I'm sure they had a million questions. More than anything, I felt supported, so I was glad they were here; that was good. I had spent too many weeks struggling with all this on my own.

"Tell us what happened, Cooper," Lance simply said.

Lance hated coffee. He had ordered a fruit smoothie instead. Since he and Jakob had moved to Von, he had continued to stay in shape. Jakob didn't work at a gym like Lance did, but he still looked good. Better. Is it possible to physically look more professional, even if you're not talking about clothing?

I took a sip. I'd peeled off the lid. I hated drinking through tiny holes.

"Well, it was the week before Christmas," I started. "I had left some papers accidentally on the dining room table. They were signed contracts, so it wasn't just something I could reprint at work. I figured I could dart home at the tail end of lunch. And ... I did."

I took another sip. Mike and Trent didn't know me well. Jakob and Lance had been in the same AA group with me. They knew me — the divorce, my son, coming out, my drinking problem. Mike and Trent had met me casually. I had attended two of their Friendsgivings as friends of Lance and Jakob. They were nice people. All four of them were very close. Mitch attended with me on both occasions. So, they knew who he was. All of them looked at me intently.

"I slipped the papers into an attaché very quickly," I continued. "The apartment was quiet. There was some construction on the street. At first, I thought what I heard was that, but then it sounded like it was coming from the bedroom. For a moment, I questioned if we had left a TV on. Then I ... could tell. It was moaning. Was Mitch home? Was he watching porn? The bedroom door was half open. I pushed on it, and there they were. I saw Mitch and some other guy in bed. Mitch's dick was deep into his ass."

Immediately, the five of us looked around to see if anyone heard that. The coffee shop, Joe, was fairly busy, but no one was paying attention to us. For me, that was a fairly brazen thing to say.

"I'm sooo sorry," all of them said. It was in unison. Like a choir whispering sympathy a cappella.

"Remember the year before? I caught him making out with another coworker."

"It caused you to take a drink, didn't it?" Jakob asked.

I nodded. "I hated that I did that."

"But the two of you worked through it," Lance said, with an inflection that maybe all hope wasn't lost.

"Yeah. This time ... I think that's asking too much."

"If isn't too painful," Mike started, "how did you handle it? I can't imagine."

"Oh, I looked at the two of them in the bed and simply said, `FUCK!' They both jumped. I stormed out. I heard Mitch also say, `Fuck!' and then he hollered at me to wait. Fat chance. I had the papers in hand, and I slammed the door. I'm sure the rage made my face a bright red."

I breathed in. As hard as I tried, that memory is vivid, high definition vivid, down to the pubic hair on this other guy vivid. I closed my eyes and cupped my hands around the back of my head pulling it down. I breathed deeply. I knew the guys were looking at me, probably deeply concerned. I hoped no one else in the coffeeshop was looking. I felt Mike's hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not sure I've ever heard you cuss. I can tell this is very painful," Jakob said.

"The one thing I didn't want to do is slip up and take a drink," I said sitting up.

"Why didn't you call me?" Lance asked.

"I thought about it. If you guys still lived here, you'd have been my first call. I just knew I needed somewhere to stay that night. Clearly, I couldn't go back there."

Jakob reached for my hand and held it.

"Ophelia didn't pick up, but I wouldn't have asked to stay there. That would be too much. She has her family all back together. She doesn't need AA friends intruding on that. So I called Richard."

 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

My heart pounded. I had a death grip on the steering wheel like I was unintentionally trying to tear it from the dashboard. My breathing was so hard, it almost sounded like grunting.

I didn't even remember the drive back to the office. I was in the parking lot, and I looked up wondering how I got there. Mitch worked on a floor two below mine. Was he coming back? Would he try to come to my office to explain? I didn't think I could look at him.

I put my head on the steering wheel. "WHYYYYYYY!!!??"

Fuck.

I grabbed the paperwork and walked back into the office. It was 1:20.

Trying to regain as much composure that I could muster, I walked into Mr. Shannon's office and provided him with the contracts. We spoke of the changes that the client wanted. The conversation was only about four minutes, but it felt like all afternoon. My heart was still pounding. My head was all over the place, wandering the nightmare fields of betrayal and darkness. Eventually Mr. Shannon looked at me concerned.

"Are you okay, Cooper?"

"Uh. I'm not sure. I'm not feeling well at the moment. I don't know."

"Okay. Well, thanks for this work. Great job; nicely done. This is outstanding for us in the long run. If ... if you don't feel good about being here, I understand if you need to head home."

I certainly wouldn't be going there.

"Um. We'll see. Thank you."

I went back to my office and locked the door. My gaze transfixed on a diploma in front of me. I don't know why. I just glazed over with it blurred in my vision.

Why did he do this???

We were good. We were looking at houses. We were looking forward to the holidays. Why did he do this!?

We loved each other.

I gasped for breath as tears started flowing. Had I done something wrong? Was he angry at me? Was he unhappy with me? He had just told me he loved me last night. What the fuck?!

I felt unloved. And cheated on. And unsatisfying. And worthless. And stabbed. And erased. And alone.

For just a second, my mind flashed toward getting something to drink. No. I wasn't allowing myself to go down that path. For Corey's sake. No.

I needed to call someone. I dialed Ophelia, but her voice mail answered. I started to leave a message but didn't. Yet.

What would I do? Where would I go? There was no way in hell that I was going back there. I don't think I could physically be able to be in that space. The thought of being in that bed disgusted me to no end.

I dialed Richard. I spilled the details in abbreviated fashion but told him I was worried about being on my own. He immediately invited me to his house that evening. I spoke of my temptations, but he talked me down from that. He agreed keeping Corey front and center was the way to go.

Corey.

Corey had grown to love Mitch. Mitchell loved Corey. Corey thought of him as a second father. Fuck!

I let the receptionist know I wasn't feeling well and ducked out shortly after 2:30. As I got to my car, I glanced around. Our building had ten floors, so it was a huge parking lot. I didn't see Mitch's car. We rode together more times than not, but when schedules differed, we would take our own cars. The drive was only 12 miles from the apartment. He said he needed his car for a meeting today.

Yeah, he did! A "meeting." Fuck him!

Richard, who had been retired for years, listened to everything I had to say. Richard's only connection to the gay world were the handful of friends from our AA group. Even with limited experience, he was a good listener. I'm sure I rambled.

I wasn't hungry, but Richard started fixing us a simple dinner around 6. I sat on the couch, not even having the interest to look at the news, even though Richard encouraged me to watch TV if I wanted to. My body just sunk into Richard's old couch. It was like the fabric was flesh-eating bacteria that consumed me millimeters at a time. I just sank further.

I heard my phone go "ker-plick," indicating a text. Oh, God. Would it be Mitch?

It was.

"I know you're mad. I understand. I'm so sorry. I didn't know if you would come home. Let me know you're safe. I want to talk. Can we talk?"

No. Nope. Sorry. It was too soon. I hadn't processed the implications of everything. Apologies were off the table.

I didn't respond.

 

"I stayed with Richard that night." I took another sip of coffee. "We talked a lot. I thought for sure I would get no sleep. But I think I was so exhausted from just hours of anger and tears and tension ... I slept pretty easily."

"Wow," Mike said. "Did you ... see Mitch ... again?"

"We haven't yet. Not face-to-face. Before going to bed that night, he texted twice. He tried to call. I ignored it all."

"What did the texts say?" Jakob asked.

"He wanted to make sure I was safe. Afterall, he did this to an alcoholic. Then he apologized over and over. The last thing he texted — and said on the message — was that he loved me."

"He has an unusual way of showing it," Trent muttered.

"Trent," Mike softly admonished.

"It's strange. I don't cuss. It was never allowed in our household, but I did a lot that day."

Mike, seated on my left, put a hand on my shoulder again.

"The next morning I waited an hour after when Mitchell usually goes in. I stopped at the apartment and saw his car gone. I threw some clothes in a suitcase, grabbed my travel bag and after taking a shower headed to work. I was late, but I showed up. At 10:30 I got a text. It said, "I watched you walk in from the parking lot. I've been looking out the window all morning for you."

"Working in the same building has to be excruciating for you," Jakob said.

"Yes. No. Maybe. We don't see each other. Different floors. But ... I just know he is in there. He texted me that day to ask if he could come up to my office. I told him that wasn't a good idea."

A server walked the room asking any of us if we needed a warmup. Trent let his coffee be topped off.

"So where are you now?" Lance asked.

"I just had to make it a few days before the Christmas holidays. I had already arranged for extra days off because of Corey. I got him between Christmas evening and New Year's Eve. Mitch hadn't asked off for extra days.

"I stayed with Richard for two more nights and then lied to my parents how I wanted to spend some quality time with them before Christmas. Mom was thrilled. I didn't tell anyone about it until after the New Year. My family is weird enough. I didn't want to bring them down over the holidays."

"Surely you've talked to Mitch at some point," Lance said.

"Only via text and on the phone."

 

"I get why you don't want to talk to me. I don't know how you can ever forgive me. I can't even forgive myself for hurting you. I hate myself for my mistakes. Please don't think I stopped loving you. I still do."

"I love you, too," I voiced only to myself. I did every time he said it. How long could I keep this up? I can't forgive him. I can't stop loving him either.

Life sucked.

I had no idea how to move on. Mitchell was my only link to the gay world. I came out when I was 36. I'm not a bar or club person. Would I meet someone new? Did I want to? I'm not over Mitch. Any friends I have are ones that he has brought into our circle. Except Lance and Jakob and they moved away. Maybe I could go see them some weekend. That would be nice. As far as being gay goes, I was a toddler. I had just learned to walk. Now I had no guidance to really master my steps. If the day came that I felt I could feel for someone else, who would possibly want me? I didn't fit in. I have a kid. Can't drink, don't dance, have almost zilch knowledge of gay culture. Yeah. Some catch.

 

"What breaks my heart is Corey. Corey misses him too. They loved each other. The last day before I left before the Christmas holidays, I returned from lunch and the receptionist told me someone from another floor had left something for me. I took the bag into the office and there was a letter and a package. It was from Mitch."

"What did the letter say?" Jakob asked.

"He told me he had already bought Corey's gift and asked if I would still let him receive it. I cried as he poured his heart out begging for forgiveness and to make sure I let Corey know how much he deeply loved him, and that he hoped one day we could all start again as a family."

"Man. That's tough," Mike said. "Did you give him the gift?"

"Of course. I put Corey through enough with the divorce and ... finding out your dad is gay. I looked for a new apartment and just signed a lease in one afternoon. It was fast. If I signed that day, they gave me the rest of December for free. I knew Mitch would be with his family for a few days, so I moved a lot out. I left most of the furniture there. I took the guest bed. He didn't have days off after Christmas, so I was able to get final things from the apartment. The hardest thing — the absolutely HARDEST thing — was telling Corey why we were going to a different apartment when I picked him up."

 

"What is this place, Dad?" he asked.

I carried his bag in. The apartment was so sparse. Not a single thing was on the walls. I had just signed a one-bedroom. It had the guest bed — which I had bought when I moved out of the house Natalie and I lived in — and the dresser and night stand it came with. A mirror leaned against the wall. The carpeting was by no means new. It didn't look bad, but it did show signs of being a bit tattered. The walls were beige, which I hated, but I didn't have time to pursue a lot of options. I had no way of knowing, but I assume the apartment was probably 20 to 30 years old.

I had had a new couch delivered the day before, and I splurged on a nice new television for the living room. I probably owned a few other things in our apartment, but I just left them. I took extra kitchen gadgets we had owned. My hope was that Corey and I could go shopping for more stuff.

I had him sit on the couch.

"This is not easy, son. It's so hard my heart is pounding ... and ... I'm ..."

Corey saw my hand trembling. I had already scared him. Corey was blonde like me. His eyes were more gray than blue like mine. He stared me right in the face.

"Where's Mitchell? What's going on?"

"Something's happened. Mitch and I ... aren't in a good place. We can't be together right now."

"What happened? Did you do something? Did he do something?"

Damn. I hated this. I already put Corey through the divorce two years prior. How much crap can I dump on him.

"Mitchell hurt me. It ... was bad. But I..."

"He didn't hit you, did he?"

"No. No. Nothing like that. It was more ... he hurt my heart. Right now, I just can't be with him. I'm sorry that that's not fair to you. Mitch loves you. He does. I have a Christmas gift from him for you."

Corey's expression was blank. I'm sure he didn't know how to process all this. It had to have been confusing. And scary.

"So, right now, you are the second man in this home. It's not fair of me to ask you to be that grown up all of a sudden."

"I'm grown up enough ..." he softly mumbled looking down at his lap.

"Yes, you are," I said, reaching over to pull him into me. I reclined on the couch with my son in my arms. "Thank heavens I will always have you."

He accepted my embrace and hugged me gently.

 

"The divorce was bad enough, but to put him through this ... AGAIN."

"How is he?" Lance asked.

"He's amazing. For 13 years old, sometimes I think he is 20. Had he fallen apart, I would have been destroyed. But he was a rock. I really think he helped me get through it. We went shopping for things the apartment needed. I had no idea how long I would be staying there, but it was a six-months lease, so I'll be there through June for sure."

"You said you and Mitch talked on the phone," Mike said. "How ... did it go?"

"We never yelled. If anything, I was the opposite. When I was angry, my voice just dropped. He said something like `I know you won't believe me when I say it didn't mean anything, because ... clearly it does. It hurt you. That means something. But I didn't stop loving you for one minute.' I just said, `If you loved me, why would you be in bed with someone else?' He didn't answer. I knew the answer, but ... I won't give you the specifics."

I took a deep breath.

"So. Anyway. Here we are. I'm just dealing with it one day at a time. And..." I looked at Mike and Trent, "I know Lance and Jakob came down to see you this weekend. I'm sorry that I am in the way of that."

"Don't give it a second thought," Mike said. "We're happy to support you. We're still here. If you need someone — we're a phone call away. Don't hesitate."

"That's kind of you. I know you don't know me well, but ... that's kind of you. I might take you up on that."

Trent asked for my phone, and he entered both their phone numbers.

"I'm sorry we're an hour away, but you can call us anytime. ANY time," Lance emphasized.

We stood. A couple of them made minor chitchat.

Lance looked at me. "I know next week is Valentine's Day. Don't let it get into your head. It's just a day. Please call me."

"I'll be fine," I said.

"Call me. Tell me you'll call me."

"Okay, okay. I'll call."

These were nice friends. They seemed to have navigated the gay world so much better than me. Lance and Trent were best friends in college. It's ironic that they both kind of came out at the same time, and yet didn't become a couple. I know Lance had wanted it, but circumstances led them to other people. The right people. Mike is a well-respected teacher, and Jakob now has his own store in Von. Lance was so successful at his first job that he got promoted as general manager of a new gym in Von — and it's doing well. Trent was fortunate enough to get a job at a radio station and by a twist of fate being in the right place at the right time, he became an on-air radio personality in under a year. Not to mention being a playwright. I had seen his play. Lance encouraged me to see his first one, The Brutal Reality, a year ago. His second one was purchased last year. Signposts is in production to tour several mid-sized cities.

And look at me; I'm an accountant. Could there be anything less exciting? They all made small talk. I nodded here or there, but somehow, I became sucked into a death spiral of being insignificant. Dull and unnoteworthy.

I missed Lance and Jakob being in town for our AA meetings. Our after-meeting group was such a lift. It hasn't been the same since they moved. Still, I needed to let them get on with their day.

We pushed in our chairs under the round table for six. Simple hugs were blessings in themselves.

A man stood a few feet away. His voice cried out in a sudden yelp. I turned to see him stumble. A cord on his jacket had somehow snagged on the booth and he lost his balance. He dropped to the floor, throwing his coffee. The contents of the cup slung down my jeans. One leg was streaked with liquid. Soaked.

"Are you okay?" I said. The five of us, as well as others at Joe, had turned and leaned down to make sure he was unhurt.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Humiliated, but fine." He noticed my leg. "Dear, lord. I am so sorry. I can pay to have that cleaned."

"Oh please. They're old jeans. We're on our way out; I'll just throw them in the washer. You're sure you're not hurt."

"I'm fine. Are you sure you are?"

"The coffee wasn't that hot. I'm completely fine. Don't worry about it. Please."

"Again, I'm very sorry."

The man left, visibly embarrassed. He was much older than me, but not elderly.

My friends looked at me with a big-eyed expression like one more thing had just been dumped on my plate of things to deal with. I assured them I was okay and hugged each of them.

 

—

 

I threw the jeans in the washer along with towels, socks, underwear and two other pairs of jeans I had worn that week.

I flopped on the bed in just my boxers and T-shirt.

Any time I was in bed, I thought of Mitch. I reached over and held the other pillow. I longed to hold him instead. I missed feeling the touch of his skin against mine. I loved letting my fingertips roam over him completely. Every night as we went to sleep, my hand would gently caress his back, stroking his shoulders until they worked their way down to his ass. I loved letting my hand slip below the waistband of his boxers to cup each cheek. Every night. It never got old. He always let me start the night with my arm around him. By morning, I would so often find my way into his arms. Other times I would have my hand on an ass cheek.

Surely, I would stop thinking about this at some point. I had to, didn't I?

 

—

 

I picked Corey up Friday afternoon at 4:30. He was waiting for me at the front of school.

"I'm glad you're not one of those kids that die an agonizing death if seen being picked up by their parents."

"Eh, it's no big deal."

"Good."

"Now, Michelle, in eighth grade ... she's mortified. What a drama queen. Her mother could say anything — ANYTHING — and she would just die of embarrassment. She could pick her up saying they won the lottery and Michelle would be all `Moth-ER! Gawd!'"

"Have I met this Michelle?"

"No. She's in choir with me. Obviously, she takes drama too."

I laughed.

"What do you want for dinner?" I asked.

"My choice?"

I nodded.

"I'm totally craving orange chicken."

"Yum! I haven't done Chinese in a long time. Great choice," I said.

That evening we were enjoying dinner at the kitchen table. I grabbed silverware for the two of us. I saw Corey reach for chopsticks that were placed in the bag. I assumed he was going to give them a try. Within a few minutes, it was clear that Corey was very comfortable using them. My face surely had to be astonished in awe.

"Wait! Since when do you know how to use chopsticks?"

"For a while," he casually said.

"Did your mother teach you?"

"Heavens no. We never get Chinese. I sometimes go out with friends, and we have all learned to use them."

"When? How? You can't drive. How old are these friends?"

"Relax. They are in my class. Every couple of weeks we go out one night. One of the parents picks us up. Mom did once. If we have homework, we do it together."

"All guys? Or any girls."

"Just guys."

"Valentine's Day is next week. Is that even a thing in middle school?"

"Like decorating shoeboxes for valentine deliveries? Surely, you're kidding."

"I didn't mean that. But ... does anyone make a big deal out of it? Boyfriends and girlfriends doing things?"

"I suppose a few might. Nothing really in class. Probably at the lockers or after school."

"Any girlfriends in your world?"

"Dad..."

"What? You can't talk about such things with your father?"

"Not if I can help it."

"And suddenly my teenager goes from being wonderfully mature to typical teen."

"Whatever."

"So, there must be someone you like?"

"Dad, seriously."

"Okay, okay, okay."

We laughed and smiled through the rest of dinner. Corey had chosen Iron Man to watch tonight. He wanted to go back to the start of the whole Marvel franchise. We enjoyed the extras on the Blu-Ray more than the movie. We commented on how young Robert Downey Jr. looked compared to his last performance in Avengers Endgame. Corey started Captain America The First Avenger. I said I couldn't stay up through another one and went into the bedroom.

"I'm just going to start it. I won't watch the whole thing," he said.

My laptop rested on my waist as I sat up in bed. I checked on some emails.

Fifteen minutes later, Corey turned off the television and came into my room.

"Can we talk, Dad?"

No kids ever ask their parents to talk. Like ever. I was shocked. And pleased.

"Of course," I said, shutting my laptop and setting it on my nightstand. "What's up?"

"This isn't fair, but ... I mean ... I didn't want to talk about my life ... and ..."

"Corey? What is it, buddy?"

"You were talking about ... Valentine's Day and everything. Um. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Will that day be hard?" he asked crawling up on the bed to sit beside me.

"Aw. You're sweet to worry about me. But I'm fine. I'm okay."

"Do you miss Mitchell?"

Crap. This was such a grown-up conversation my son was wanting to have, but I had no idea where to go with it.

"Yes. All the time. We shared something special. Even though it was best that we ... split ... I do still miss him."

"Do you think you'll ever see him again?"

"See him or get back with him?"

"Either."

"We work in the same building. We're bound to run into each other eventually. Do I think we could be a couple again ...? I don't know. I ... I was hurt, Corey. It's not easy to get past."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No. No. You can talk to me about anything. Even if you think I might be mad or get upset with you, you can always come to me. You can ask me anything. You can tell me anything."

"Even if I rob a bank?"

"Who are these friends again?"

We both laughed.

"Even if you rob a bank," I said. "Really, Cor, you can come to me with anything."

"I just like who you are now. I want you to be happy," he said, surprisingly with sincerity.

"You're such a good kid. I'm sure nice dad is much better than drunk dad." I pulled him into me. "I hate that you had that year with a dad who drank too much."

"You weren't drunk all the time. Only a few occasions."

I knew I was probably drunk more times than he realized.

"It's sweet that you can see past that. I hate that I drank that much. I know I wasn't nice to be around. I ... wasn't happy and that was a horrible way to handle it."

"You were unhappy with Mom?"

"Oh no. Nothing was her fault. And I feel bad that I hurt her in my sadness. I never wanted to do that. I'm sure she says bad things about me."

"No, she doesn't."

"Really?"

"No. We don't talk about you at the house much. Even when you and Mitchell broke up."

"Hmm. Well, I hope you know I want the best for your mother. I want her to be happy."

"I don't know if she is or not. It's hard to tell."

"Does she date anyone?"

"Not that I know of. Think she does when I'm over here?"

I laughed. "That's it! You've figured her out. She's on some hot date right now as we speak."

"Oh, Dad. Stop."

We laughed some more.

Corey turned around on the bed to lay opposite me.

"Sharing your heart with someone is nice," I said seriously. "I hope I will again one day. It would be great to love someone again."

"Did you love Mom?"

That was a loaded question. I needed to think carefully on my answers.

"Sure. Yes, I did. Certainly when we got married. In time, I knew that my feelings really wanted to be with a man. You understand that, right?"

He nodded.

"I just had to figure that out. And I couldn't figure out what to do. When I didn't know the answer, I just drank."

I grabbed his foot. I rubbed it gently.

"Son, if I can teach you one thing, never think drinking — or drugs — solves anything. It just made it worse. Okay? You understand that I'm very serious when I say that?"

He nodded. I let go of his foot.

"I remember when I was smashed and yelled at you. It is a knife in my heart every time I remember that."

"Yeah, you pushed me that time."

"I know." I rubbed a tear from my eye. "I hated myself when I did that. I knew I had to stop. Then I joined AA and got better."

"You sure did. You're much better to be with."

"Thanks. I'm glad you can forgive me of those times."

"I can. You're nice to be around. I like our time together."

"Me too. I'm lucky you're my son. You're a good kid."

He wiggled my little toe and smiled as a way to say thank you.

"Are you sleeping in here tonight or crashing on the couch."

"I'll probably watch a little more. I'll sleep out there."

"Do you want me to pull out the bed?"

"No, the couch is enough. I know where to get a sheet and blankets."

"Okay. If you're okay, I'm okay."

He hugged me and went back out to the living room. Corey was amazing. So many things have been fired at him, and he has taken it all in stride. I'm fortunate to have such an understanding and mature son.

During the first few weekends here, he was willing to sleep in this bed. However, he's 13. He's getting too old to want to do that. He's growing. By now, I am sure he is masturbating. Seems like I was at that age. It's so far back, I'm not exactly sure when I started. I remember rubbing up against the tree when I climbed it to get my shirt that Curtis stupidly threw up on that lower branch. I just remember it feeling good. I went back inside pissed off that he was teasing me. I rubbed my crotch some more on the bed. Funny, I don't remember my age, but I remember that first orgasm.

I would have been mortified if my father had asked me questions at that time, so I'm not going to tread into that treacherous territory with Corey. He'll be fine. Kids do it.

I remember feeling those sensations when I was young. I wasn't exactly sure what they were, but it seemed easy to do it. But when did I start picturing people as I did it? And why do people start doing that? Is it an automatic instinct?

I didn't remember thinking about other people when I was in school. Until high school. Until Henry Kammerdiener.

I guess I just thought that was natural. By the time we were seniors — or was it juniors? — classmates would talk about gay people, fags, queers. Some kids at school stood up against the slurs. There weren't really many "out" kids in high school. I think I remember two. Times were changing though. Not like they are today, for sure, but it was beginning to become accepted. Being the butt of jokes didn't fly with some people. You still wouldn't announce it to your friends unless you were the bravest person in the world. I was not. Nor did I think I was even gay. I knew I was supposed to like girls. I was expected to like girls. And one day, I figured that would all click. When I didn't profess "being hot" for some girl in class, I felt like maybe it hadn't clicked. I figured maybe I was already there. I still thought about guys when I masturbated but was certainly confident that I wasn't gay. My mind wasn't even going there.

Natalie was pretty. I seemed to notice her. That was what I had been waiting for. She started going to our church when her family moved to Jackson Bend. She seemed nice and pretty, and I enjoyed her company.

I wasn't gay.

A battle involving Captain America rattled me from my thoughts. I got up and went to the kitchen for some ice water.

"I'm going to turn in, okay Cor?"

"Okay. Good night, Dad."

I saw that he had already gathered a pillow and bedding on the end of the couch.

"Good night, son. I love you."

"Love you, too," he said, blankly staring at the television.

"Can you turn that down just a bit so I'm not suddenly fighting villains in my sleep?"

He smiled, picked up the remote and complied.

I shut my door most of the way, but left it open a crack just to be able to hear anything if need be.

Twenty minutes later, the volume was still loud enough to hide my heavy breathing as cum covered my chest. I hadn't thought about Henry Kammerdiener in at least a decade.

 

—

 

"Hi, Lance. I told you I would call, so I'm calling."

"Hey, Cooper. How are you doing? Are you okay?"

"Yep. Just checking in as directed."

"Directed," he scoffed. "You know I care."

"I know you do, and I appreciate you."

"I just thought the day might trigger some tough feelings."

"I could see why people might think that, but I was never that hung up on Valentine's Day. I mean, Natalie and I always went out for dinner and exchanged simple gifts. Mitch and I ... both times we had a candle-lit dinner at home. It was one of the few times I would let ... never mind. We'd have a passionate night. But I'm not feeling left out or lonely or depressed. It's not that big of a deal. I'm fine. You and Jakob have big plans?"

"Nothing amazing. Dinner. Will probably fuck."

I was always thrown by Lance's brashness. He could be so open. He was so different than me. I could never say such things to other people. I could just picture my parents positively withering before my eyes, like cornstalks in a drought.

"Well, you guys have a great time. Don't worry about me. But, hey, Lance, thanks for thinking about me."

"Call any time you need to, my friend."

Hanging up the phone, I felt kind of proud of myself. I wasn't depressed. I wasn't angry. I wasn't sad. I looked at the pillow next to me. It was probably a lie saying I wasn't lonely. I still missed Mitch every day. It had been almost two months. Why was I still in love? Why was I not getting over him?

The two Valentine's Days we shared, we brought the candles in from dinner and took a bubble bath by candlelight and then had a great night of lovemaking. It was one of the days in the year I would let him fuck me. I don't know why I never cared for it. He sure did. It just worked better the other way around, I guessed.

I pulled the other pillow close to my chest. I pictured Mitchell's chest pressed against mine. Damn. Thinking about him fucking me made me picture him fucking whoever that was in our old bedroom. Fuck. Even with the mere ten seconds I had been standing there, I could visualize his cock moving in and out of that guy's ass. That still hurt. Bad. It was branded into my brain with a hot iron. It was like that few seconds was accompanied by its own suspense music.

I winced my eyes closed and pulled the pillow tighter to my chest.

I couldn't see a pathway back to Mitch. That was just too much of a breach of trust. But even if I did try to move on — if I could get over him — who would want me? I just didn't fit.

Exhaling a huge sigh, I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling. For an insane moment, I thought about texting Mitch just a simple "hi" on Valentine's Day. Was I crazy!? There were so many ways to misinterpret that. He was still in my heart though. I certainly could have worded it innocently enough. Couldn't I?

I abandoned that crazy idea. For some reason, Valentine's Day made my mind think of chocolate. I went into the kitchen and found a remaining packet of hot chocolate. Perfect. Forget water, I was using milk. The packet said "for richer flavor" after all. I made it piping hot — lip-searing, volcanic, acid-on-the-roof-of-your-mouth hot. Barely able to hold the mug, I got it to my nightstand and lied in bed again.

I picked up my phone. I pondered texting. Then put it down. And then picked it up. And then put it down again.

Five minutes later, my fingers were tapping out a message:

"Even though I am aware things are strained between us, I just wanted to say Hi. I know this is kind of odd — and sorry if it is inappropriate — but even though hurt feelings are involved, I just wanted to say that you will always hold a special place in my heart. I hope you are doing okay."

Send.

I sat the phone down and immediately regretted sending that. There are many ways to take that. Was one of them the right way? How is a person to take that message?

Three minutes later, I heard a text come in. Then a second.

"Hi. That's nice of you to say so."
"I hope you are okay too." Natalie texted back.

 

—

 

It seemed busy at Joe. Sunday mornings varied. Maybe it was because it was the first "warm" Sunday in February. I knew I was loving the above-average temp.

After grabbing my coffee, I looked over to see the rack of free tabloids. Mitch always used to grab the gay one and thumb through it. I reached for the "February" issue, figuring it would be traded out next week.

I peeled off the lid of my coffee and let it cool for half a minute before taking a sip. I flipped through the tabloid. There were movie reviews. I glanced them over, remembering how Mitch and I used to see two or three movies a month. At that point I was determined to go see a movie this week. I loved going to movies. There was no reason whatsoever that prohibited me from seeing a movie on my own. I took my time absorbing the reviews. Somehow, I was allowing the authors to make my choice for me. Two piqued my interest, but I opted to step back from the love story. I certainly didn't need something to trigger me inside the theater and set me off bawling. A crime drama seemed much safer.

I flipped further and noticed the personal ads in the back.

Gawd. I so didn't fit in with that scene. Guys in speedos advertising phone lines. Dance parties in just your underwear. Personal ads just to hook up. I accepted that everyone was entitled to live their life as they chose. But that wasn't me. What was me? I held my cup with both hands. Feeling the warmth from the paper cup was suddenly comforting. My vision glazed, focused on nothing in particular. Who was I? I was a gay misfit. I didn't fit in anywhere. Grew up with a religious family, had no clue how to integrate into the gay world (even this coffee shop seemed bold at times), didn't know how to dance, hated being a bottom, turned off by most stereotypical flamboyance — not much of a catch for anyone to go after.

It was at that moment that I first realized that I was going to be alone my whole life.

 

* * * *

 

If you are new to my writing — welcome. You might have noticed at the top of this chapter it said Book Five. These characters have appeared in other books, but this is the one that focuses on Cooper. It is not necessary to have ready any of the others; I feel this stands on its own and think you will enjoy it.

If you come to like the characters, there is more to find at Nifty/Adult Friends:

[1] Extracurricular
[2] If It Weren't For the Two of Us
[3] Hi, I'm Lance
[4] Ascension: Jakob's Ladder

If you would like to know more about this story — Coffee at 9 — you can find out more at the blog: timothylane414stories.blogspot.com

I always enjoy feedback: timothylane414@gmail.com

Timothy