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I've been enjoying your correspondence. Please keep it coming!

 

July

 

"Behold, the framework to my house," I said, holding up the image on my phone to Emory.

"Wow. It's moving along. They are acting fast."

"So it seems, but I know it takes a while for it all to get done."

"Is Corey excited?"

"I'm not sure. I think. But concrete and boards aren't too exciting. I think once he sees the walls of his room going in, that should get him a little psyched. Nat says he talks about it, so maybe he is."

Emory held out his cup to Brad who warmed it up. Brad tried his hardest to coerce us into a cinnamon roll, but I told him I had lost five pounds and had a goal to lose three more.

"I'm proud of you for staying strong. Great willpower," Emory said.

"Thanks. At least with weight. Not so much with Mitch."

"What willpower do you want with him?"

"Not to set myself up for the same pain."

"So how is it going now?"

"We've done a movie and a couple dinners out. I approve of those. It's when it comes down to sleeping with each other that I get a bit resistant. I mean, okay, the sex is good. But ... sleeping together implies we are getting back together."

"It doesn't have to. Can't it just be good sex?"

"To most people, probably. To me, it needs to mean something. It's just the way I am. I don't ... how to say it ... hook up. When we have sex, I feel myself being pulled back in."

"Then maybe that's the direction you should go."

"And that's what I question. I still have trust issues, but I'm loving seeing him again. This whole casual dating is weird. We lived together for two years."

"Don't overthink it. Enjoy it for what it is. Simply ask yourself, `What's right for me?' and follow those instincts. Clearly you haven't rushed back into things. I think some caution is warranted, so you can't fault yourself for a knee-jerk response. You're taking it slow. That's fine. Has Mitch told you what he wants?"

"He keeps trying to prove he loves me. As much as I am resisting the sleeping over, on the weekends I don't have Corey, we have shared the nights."

"Wait. Then where is he now?"

"At home. I actually stayed at his place Friday and last night. I left this morning to come see you."

"Well! Don't I rate?!"

 

I brushed my teeth. Mitch had just finished.

He typically sleeps with a T-shirt, but he took it off again tonight. I was just in my boxers as well. We lay down on our sides of the bed. Neither of us got under the sheets. He had lit a candle on his nightstand as I had finished brushing my teeth. In that subtle glow, he looked into my eyes.

"I'm so glad you are here again. Shall we be so youthful as to have sex two nights in a row?"

"Only young people do that?" I joked.

"Well, when we used to be ... together ... we did it about twice a week. Remember?"

"Right. Early on, we did every night when we first moved in."

"Ha!" he guffawed. "You were just coming out. You had all this pent-up gay testosterone, it was amazing. I loved your insatiable lust."

"Insatiable. Me. Huh. Who would have ever described me that way sexually?"

"You were. For the first weeks at least. I think we went ten days in a row before even taking a night off."

He leaned in to kiss me. His nose and forehead touched mine.

"You know I'm hard already, right?" I asked.

His hand felt my bulge. I hummed at his touch. His fingers slipped inside the waistband of my boxers. I watched them wrestle inside and then closed my eyes as he began to grope my cock. It felt good. He gently gripped and pulled. It felt nice just to have his fingers on my skin. Soon, I opened my eyes as I felt my boxers being pulled from my legs.

"You fucked me at my request last night," he said. "What is your pleasure this evening, sir?"

"Oooo, I get to pick? Well ... are you game?"

"For ...?"

"We took a shower after our run. Would you be willing to lick my ass?

"A rim job? Well, Mr. Snow. How bold."

I rolled onto my stomach. His hands started first at my shoulders and began massaging them. His grip went down my back working their weight into my shoulder blades and back muscles. I groaned at the service. A back rub felt good. They traveled down my back until they gripped my buttocks. He massaged them with moderate strength. Then he spread them as far as his grip could. I felt him gently blow into my ass crack. Then his face moved in. I could feel his breath on the light hairs deep in my cheeks. Then his tongue entered. I groaned again.

"Shhh," he softly said.

I resorted to breathing deeply as his tongue roamed the entrance to my passage. In all our months together, we very rarely rimmed each other. I was enjoying it. I knew he was listening to my breathing. The wetness, the stimulation, the dancing of his tongue. It was satisfying. The service went on for a couple of minutes.

"Your tongue is like a skilled painter," I softly said.

The tip of his tongue made small dashes at my hole as if painting wheat on a masterpiece canvas. It caused me to slightly writhe in delight. Mitchell pulled me farther apart and plunged further, straining to access the depth of my hole. As the tip swirled into me, the rest of his tongue coated more of my crack. Rimming was so rare for us, but it was so pleasurable. If we had made sure our timing was right, it could have been a mainstay for us. Perhaps I should request it more.

His breath from his nostrils flowed down my crack. Mitchell did everything in his power to bury his face in my ass. The sensations — he blew into me, he tantalized me with his tongue, he inhaled me, he explored. It was easy to lie silent as I was stimulated in such an uncommon way. His tongue promenaded though my entire ass one last time before wiggling down into my hole again. I loved it.

Then I felt him kiss each cheek.

He moved up and slid his dick within the crevice of my ass. Back and forth, he moved it through my rounded globes. His lips kissed the back of my neck.

Innocently, he asked, "Want me to fuck you? Do you need me inside you?"

I rolled over. "I have an idea of what I want."

I gave him instructions to lube one finger. I wanted him to suck my cock but finger my hole as he did it. I gave him clear instructions.

"Very specific," he said, surprised.

A minute later, his finger explored my ass. I tensed only a moment as his digit penetrated my hole. Then I relaxed and enjoyed the stimulation. I hummed in approval. His mouth descended on my firm erection. This was what I was wanting. I had pictured it in my mind since we had started dating again. It was something different for us.

"It feels good, Mitch," I whispered. In response, his tongue circled the head of my cock and toyed with the slit at the top. Then he engulfed the entire shaft again. My cock felt so wet, so lubricated, so warm and so appreciated. I loved every second. My fingers gripped his shoulders. He continued sucking me. My soft moaning increased. For a couple of minutes I let my fingers run through his hair. Then I softly wrapped them around his neck. Mitch kept orally stimulating my hot iron; he was getting me close.

"Finger me some more."

His finger entered me again and sawed its way into stimulating all surfaces inside my hole.

"Oh, Mitch. Yes."

My back arched, then my hips thrust up and I groaned. He was prepared to swallow my seed, and it flooded his mouth. My fingers had a tight grip on his hair as I spurted stream after stream. Each spasm was sending incredible waves of pleasure through my cock, through my groin, through my brain.

Then my body relaxed and went limp.

"Kiss me. Share it with me."

He moved up and sealed his lips around mine. The all-but-tasteless liquid dripped into my mouth as our tongues rubbed against each other. Then we both swallowed.

"I've never seen you so decided," he said.

"I wanted it. I'm not done. I want to suck you just up until you come. Then I want you to let it land on my chest."

"You DO know what you want tonight."

"Yep," I said as I moved toward the headboard. A drop of pre-cum had made a spot on his briefs. I pulled the underwear down to where he lay naked next to me. I tossed them to the floor.

"Come up here," I directed as I sat up with a pillow propped behind me.

Mitch moved up to my head, kneeling before me. He positioned his crotch to my face. I first inhaled his scent. My nostrils buried themselves into the hair between his inner thigh and balls. I repeated the moment on its symmetrical opposite. I loved smelling Mitch. Another drop had oozed from his cock. My tongue touched it. Then I swallowed his organ.

At first, I serviced his shaft up and down. Then he started doing the fucking by thrusting his hips into my face. Mitch was longer than me. I couldn't take all of it, but I got four or five inches into my throat. I listened to his panting. After several minutes, my jaw muscles started to hurt, but I wanted to keep doing it for him. I didn't have to wait too much longer.

"Oh, I'm close, Coop," he said, pulling his cock from my face.

He stroked his wet dick a foot or two from me. I knew his mannerisms. He was about to come. His pounding got harder, and he moved back another foot.

"UNGH!"

The first spurt poured onto my pecs. Each spurt that followed dripped out and landed closer to my navel. He kept dripping as he jerked his long cock. His body shuddered at his last pulse. I loved watching this man climax above me. It was exhilarating.

I looked at him, he looked at me. I watched his chest rise and fall as his breathing began to return to normal. A minute later he went to grab a washcloth to make sure we were both clean before we turned in. Tossing it to the floor, he grabbed his briefs and put them back on. Mitch left his shirt off. He leaned over to kiss me good night.

"I love you," he said. Then he blew out the candle.

"Love you too," I said into the darkness. Our eyes had not adjusted to the blackness yet. I just reached over to hold him. On some occasions, following sex, we would sleep naked. Mitch's general routine, however, was to sleep in underwear and usually an overnight shirt of some kind. I just made a decision to remain nude. I wanted to.

I had returned to saying "I love you" to him again. I questioned the wisdom of it. I did love him. I always had. But now each time I said it, my brain countered, "But do you trust him?"

I let my hand roam all over Mitchell's back. My hand reached inside to cup his cheeks. Then I rolled onto my back, staring at the darkness above me. Mitch rolled to place his hand on my chest. He kissed a nipple with a simple peck, then placed his head on my shoulder. My hand reached up to gently comb my fingers through his hair. His hand held my cock. It was short again, but still feeling the sensations of sexual satisfaction before my genitals transitioned into routine recovery minutes later. Mitch rarely felt my crotch outside of sex. Before I drifted off, I heard the slight wheeze in his nostrils to tell me that he had floated away. My arm held him close to me.

Could I love him without trusting him? Was that even a possible thing? So many questions kept me awake for at least half an hour.

What would I tell Emory in the morning?

 

"Yes, you do rate. I think of our coffee at 9 as a commitment. I'm not just going to blow you off."

Emory looked at me astonished.

"I ... I have to say I'm touched," he said. "I mean, these visits mean a lot to me too. I've grown accustomed to seeing you. I didn't realize I had become such ... an importance."

"Friends are always important. I'm not going to stand you up without telling you first."

"If you are lying naked with a guy, I think I would be forgiving."

Brad topped my coffee off. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Then winked as he walked away. With this fresh cup, I got up to squirt some amaretto flavoring in it.

"I do appreciate your friendship, Emory," I said, returning to my seat.

"You mean a lot to me too. And not in a loving kind of way, although comments like that do make it harder for me to put all that aside," he said.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I tell you to be yourself. It's those things that made me crush on you in the first place."

Emory started talking about the friends he had rekindled with. He told me one day he would like to introduce me to them. I said I would be willing when or if that time came. I still needed to expand my circle of friends.

I told him that I got Corey for two weeks over the summer. We had started tossing around ideas for a vacation.

"That reminds me," he said. "When we meet in two weeks, I will have to cut it a little short. I'm going to need to get on the road. I'm driving to meet family in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I'll be at my brother's place for two weeks. Since I will miss the following visit, I at least wanted to see you before leaving."

"Aw. That's sweet. And you thought I was the one that said flattering things."

He blushed a little.

Once he finished his coffee, we decided to start being productive. I drank more than half, but decided the flavored coffee was best enjoyed in a smaller portion.

We waved goodbye to Brad. Outside, we hugged, and he kissed me on the cheek again. This time, I returned it.

 

—

 

The phone in my office rang. I moved my coffee mug out of the way and answered it.

"I loved this weekend," Mitchell said.

I smiled. "I enjoyed it too."

"When can we see each other again?"

"I don't know. I have AA Wednesday and pick up Corey Friday. What's your Thursday look like?"

"Ugh. I have — believe it or not — a conference call at 9:00 that evening. With Japan!!"

"Oh. That account. Well, at least we could do dinner. Want to do that?"

"Sure."

"All right. I will touch base with you on Thursday."

 

—

 

"Dad, do you like roller coasters?" my son asked me over the phone.

"Uh, I guess. I haven't been on one in years. I haven't ridden a lot, but I think they are fun. Why?"

"I want to ride the tallest one in the world."

"Oooo-kay. And where is that?"

"New Jersey. Can we talk about our upcoming vacation this weekend?"

"Yeah. Sure. Are you enjoying your summer."

"No homework? You bet. I do miss my friends though. I see some of them, but it's not like being in class. Still, sleep in, watch TV, no grades ... that's kind of nice."

"Enjoy it while you can, son, because when you grow up, this thing called a job gets in the way of that."

"I know. I know."

"I'm looking forward to us taking a trip," I said sincerely.

"Me too. I love you, Dad."

Hearing that always made me smile. "I love you too, buddy."

I hung up looking forward to our weekend. I Googled "World's tallest roller coaster."

Sure enough. New Jersey. 456 feet tall. Yikes. Kingda Ka. Good grief; was I up to that?"

 

—

 

To: Cooper Snow
From: Mitchell Sanders

Hi,

I can still have a meeting with you tonight before my conference call. Give my office a ring.

Mitch

 

To: Mitchell Sanders
From: Cooper Snow

Mitch,

Come up to my office just before lunch.

Cooper

 

By then I hoped I would have a handle on what I wanted. Dinner would be fine. Fantastic, in fact. When sex is left out of it, I felt better. But I had zero defenses against being drawn in by his body. The second he was ever in my presence, my dick just ached to be in contact with his skin.

Mitch popped his head in my door at 11:50.

"You wanted to see, Mr. Snow?" he smiled.

I smiled back. "Dinner tonight sounds good. What did you have in mind?"

"I can do Italian or Thai. I haven't had either in weeks."

"Oooo. Do you know where Thai Me Down is?"

"Of course. Let's do that."

"If we did 6:30, you'd still make your call with ample time. Does that work?"

"Indeed. Want to meet at my place? We can take one car."

I didn't. If I had my own car, I wouldn't have any other temptations beyond dinner.

"Oh. Okay."

"Great, see you sometime after 6."

 

—

 

The server had just cleared our plates. My Prik King Chicken had been delicious. Mitch had gone on and on over his Green Curry Shrimp. This had been a good choice.

"Tell me about this conference call. I'm sure there is no language barrier, right?"

"No. I'm not a big participant either. I listen in mostly, but I'm on hand for any questions. Sojay speaks Japanese, but the whole call will be in English. The dialect will occasionally throw me, but it is all good. The time zones just make it weird."

"Well, you have plenty of time to gear up."

"Yeah, let's head home."

In the car, Mitch put his hand on my leg, with the other on the wheel. "I like it that we are seeing each other again. I missed us being us. But this has been a nice restart."

"Right." I wasn't sure what else to add. We hadn't really had a knock down-drag out over the whole incident. We just moved past it without really resolving it.

His fingers draped down inside my leg. It was just tender enough to make my penis stir in my boxers. I didn't develop a raging boner but got semi-erect with a little plumpness.

As I got out of the car, I went around to give him a kiss before I departed. "Tell me how the meeting goes in the morning." I gave him a good kiss. It was more than a peck, but less than a passionate mauling.

He looked me in the eyes. Lord, how I loved looking into them.

"I have an hour. I'd love nothing more to make love to you before suffering through this conference call."

"Really? You don't want to prepare?"

"I'm good. I ... I just want you, Cooper. Come up and make love to me." He kissed me.

 

—

I rolled off of him and laid next to the hand towel. I moved the bottle of lube to the nightstand.

"Want to come on my chest?" I asked.

"I already came when you fucked me."

"You did?"

He rolled on his side, and I could see his thick white cum meshed into his navel hair and the bed sheets.

"Oh, wow," I said softly.

It was probably the least exciting sex we had had in more than a year. Pleasurable for sure — because sex is — but rather uninspired. Our passion was not at its A game. We both lay there slightly underwhelmed.

I caught a stray smell of Mitch's ass on my cock. I got up to get a washcloth. I soaped up my dick a little at the bathroom sink and then wiped it on the washcloth. After wetting it, I carried it back into the bedroom. Mitch was using the hand towel to wipe some of the cum from the sheets. I wiped off his chest with the damp cloth. Then I wriggled his cock inside the wet material, slightly pulling and tugging his anatomy. I gave him a simple smile and then kissed the head of his cock. I let my tongue trace down its length. Even though it wasn't firm anymore, Mitch's cock was always delightful to enjoy.

I flung the washcloth to the bathroom floor and positioned my body next to his. He extended his arm and I worked into its embrace with my head just at his shoulder.

"I wish you were sleeping next to me tonight," he said. "I wish you were every night."

"You're sweet" was the safest answer I could think of.

"I want us to live together again. I love you, Cooper. I know you love me too. It seems wrong for us to be apart."

Nope. I wasn't going down that hole. The gaping wound was not fully healed.

"I'm sorry, Mitch. But ... I'm not ready for that. I'm building a house. I want to be on my own. I want to depend upon myself for a while. I've accepted us going out again, but ... I'm not ready. I'm not ready to make a firm commitment. Not yet. I'm sorry. I know you'd like to hear otherwise, but ... I'm sorry, I'm not there."

I turned my head to kiss his shoulder. Then his neck. Then a nipple. Then his lips. And his lips again.

Then I exited the bed to get dressed.

"You should probably put clothes on before your call," I joked.

"I know. Right." But he didn't get out of bed. When I had everything on but socks and shoes, I looked down on him in the bed. He had the body I craved. His dick sloped nicely to the side. His chest was delightfully masculine.

"You're beautiful. You know that?" I said.

"As are you."

I sat next to his side to put on my socks. I leaned down and kissed him while my hand fondled his cock.

"Now get dressed."

As I left and got in my car, I had the strong feeling that both of us ended our time feeling slightly unsatisfied.

 

—

 

I had accepted Emory's invitation to meet a few of his friends. He had texted me the address two nights ago. His friends were having a dinner party, and he asked if I would come. I think he was trying to expand my circle of friends, but I'm never at ease with strangers at the beginning. He had encouraged me to meet new people, so I thought it couldn't hurt. I pulled up around 6:10.

The hosts were Doug and Alayna, a straight couple that had known Gene and Emory for more than 15 years. Two others, Enrique and Zane, were there also. They looked to be a few years younger than Emory (maybe 50s), but it was abundantly clear that they were gay, no explanation needed. They were what I would have called "swishy" during my 20s. Certainly not my type, but I still found them entertaining.

The house was a small, quaint two-bedroom house with a big backyard. The exterior was a cadet blue with white trim. Once inside, I was quickly offered a beverage. Before I had to "explain" anything, Emory walked up to me with an iced tea. He was having one also.

Whatever Alayna was cooking smelled heavenly. I said as much to compliment my hosts. Alayna had on capri pants and a loose flowery blouse. Doug was in a Tabasco shirt and khaki shorts. Zane was in skinny jeans and a tight pink T-shirt. Enrique had on faded jeans that looked like they had been attacked by a razor blade. I think it was supposed to look young, but on someone who was probably several years older than me, I thought it a bit much. His shirt had several snaps and straps on it. I actually kind of liked it. I stood next to Emory. He wore a Deep Purple concert shirt that looked 35 years old. While I was not in a suit, I was still in slacks and a long sleeve from work. I felt a touch overdressed. But it was a summer evening; I couldn't blame anyone for being casual, particularly in their own home.

We all sat around the living room except for Alayna who remained in the kitchen.

"Cooper, Emory has told us so much about you. So what do you do exactly?" Doug asked.

"I'm an accountant. I know that's not exciting."

"But he got a pretty big promotion recently," Emory said.

"Oh, yeah. I'm actually building a house."

"Oooo, nice," cooed Zane. "How big?"

"Two stories. About 3,300 square feet."

"Nice," said Enrique. "Sounds big. Emory says you aren't attached. Is it all just for you?"

"Well, I have my son, Corey, who stays with me from time to time."

"I see," said Zane, sounding slightly put off that a gay man would have a son. He didn't say that, but his tone had just a hint of disapproval. Maybe I was just reading something into it he hadn't intended. Maybe having a child just entailed more explanation.

As we sat around before dinner in the living room, they all reminisced about things I didn't know about. Sometimes they would try to explain the scenario, and other times I just tried to follow along.

"Remember that drag brunch in San Fran?" Enrique laughed. They talked about that for a while. I wasn't exactly sure what it was. Then a story surfaced of when Gene was still alive when they had all gone to a Provincetown weekend. I got the impression many drugs were involved. I knew what pot was, but there were some things that I only assumed were drugs. I looked at Emory to see how he handled conversations surrounding Gene. He seemed to do okay. The wild weekend they described did not sound fun to me. I would have been a wet blanket.

The conversation turned to politics, which I hated. I didn't contribute anything and felt slightly awkward just listening to people spew bile and venom at people whose view was different than their own.

"I swear, those Republicans are going to ruin the world, and then the racist bastards are just going to start shooting people they don't like — or who don't look like them — with their guns," Zane ranted, sounding every bit a gay queen. "I think everyone on our street has one but us."

"All right gentlemen, if you want to make your way to the dining room, dinner is ready." Alayna gesticulated toward the part of the house everyone knew but me.

Thank heavens the political conversation ended.

We gathered around the dining room table. It was not decorated formally so much as it was eclectic. It felt modern and certainly not casual.

"Looks divine, my dear," Doug said.

"It's tandoori chicken," she said as we all took our seats.

The main course and side dishes were quite good. It wasn't my typical wheelhouse when it came to food, but it was nice to experience something different. I loved the Indian bread she had provided as well.

I felt like I needed to contribute something to the conversation, but I didn't know how to jump in. Enrique spoke of a recent gay television show they had streamed. I hadn't seen it nor knew anything about it. Zane talked about two male celebrities getting married. I had barely heard of one of them. What could I interject? The company picnic? Hardly. Corey's school performance? Yawn. I suddenly felt awkward. Lost. It was everything about not knowing anything about the gay world I had worried about. I didn't fit in.

Zane got on a tear about some new city regulation. It felt political again.

"I swear it's those religious people. I know they are behind it. They're all just hateful bastards. Total hypocrites."

I could have just blown off the comment. But I didn't. it bothered me.

"Um. I disagree. My uncle is a minister. He is one of the kindest, most loving men I know. I think the world of him."

Zane momentarily fumbled in his words. "Oh, well, I didn't mean ALL of them. Just the ones that have the ear of the city council," he said, backpedaling.

I felt like I had destroyed the conversation. The mood felt awkward. I needed something to bring it back.

"This is delicious, Alayna. It's all wonderful," I said, feeling that was safe.

Everyone nodded and agreed. She smiled and blushed. "Thank you."

Emory was right, I needed more friends. Sadly, I immediately felt I didn't want to be friends with these people. I felt nothing like I did when I was around Mike and Trent or Lance and Jakob. That dread of not fitting in was breathing all over my neck. These were gay and gay-friendly people, and I didn't click with them. I was sure they thought I was some sort of oddball. I was miserable; I felt I had nothing to contribute.

"Emory, tell us about your upcoming trip," I suggested.

His plans carried the conversation through the rest of dinner. I didn't have to say anything. I could simply nod and smile or say "interesting" at certain points.

As the plates were cleared, Enrique asked, "So, Cooper, someone as handsome as yourself is probably seeing someone. If not, we could help set you up with a few fellas who would think you were totally yummy."

"Um. I'm still figuring out how I feel about a recent breakup. I guess you could say we are starting to patch it up. I think."

I did not want to talk about that. I hardly could pinpoint how I felt about Mitchell to myself. I sure didn't want to ramble to strangers. I'm sure Emory had heard his fill anyway. The breath of awkwardness was not only breathing down my neck, but it was causing me to perspire a bit.

"Doug, before we sat down, I thought I saw hydrangeas in the backyard outside the window. Before it gets dark, would it be okay if I looked at your garden?"

"Oh. Well, sure. Go ahead."

I stepped out the back door and took a big breath of air. I didn't fit in at all but knew I didn't have to stay much longer.

Doug and Alayna's garden was quite pretty. I looked at all their flower combinations. I had never spent a lot of time landscaping our old house. Whatever we had was done by Natalie. I had just pitched in from time to time. I took a few pictures of what Doug and Alayna had done. When my house was finished, I would like some spots of nice landscaping. I figured I should start collecting ideas.

Emory came out to check on me.

"You okay, Cooper?"

"Yeah. I guess. I'm sure your friends think I'm a total zero."

"Why would you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know ... how I'm dressed, my lack of knowledge of gay pop culture, my absence of outrage at all Republicans and religion. I ... you know I don't think I fit in. This was a bit of proof."

"Oh, please. You don't have to be copies of them. They like you just fine."

"You're being polite. I'm sure when I leave, they will all say, `What's with him?' Hopefully, they won't hold it against you."

We both laughed. Emory reached out his arms and pulled me into a hug. He just held me for a moment as we looked at the backyard.

"All four of them said you were handsome. Even Doug."

"Looks," I replied. "It's so superficial. That's not who someone is."

"Lots of people would trade places with you, Cooper."

Doug came out to the back deck. Emory let go of his hug.

"Your garden is beautiful, Doug," I said. "You've done a great job."

"Thanks, Cooper. It keeps me busy. Alayna helps a bit, but she knows it is more my project than hers."

Alayna stepped outside. "Oooo, it's nice. Let's have dessert out here."

The other gentlemen stepped outside. Each had a glass of wine in his hand. Their free hands were joined. As quirky as they most assuredly found me, I felt the same about them, but I could tell they belonged together. I'm sure they made each other happy; they probably completed each other's sentences. Natalie and I never did that.

Doug lit some tiki torches. The back deck was a lovely setting.

"Here we go," said Alayna, stepping out with a tray of desserts. "It doesn't necessarily fit dinner, but I like making this in the summer. It's a cinnamon apple crumble. Topped with ice cream, of course."

She handed me a bowl. From the bottom of the dish, I could feel the warmth. Drips of ice cream swam through the top of the crumble like octopus tentacles. It smelled of delicious perfection.

"Oh, wow," I said on my first bite. It was a knee-jerk reaction that I hadn't intended to say out loud. Alayna looked at me. "This is heaven. I love it! I'm sure I could eat the whole pan." She tilted her head and smiled at my compliment.

Conversation was a little less as we all enjoyed dessert. The sun was setting so the ambiance of twilight and the torches made for a more pleasant, quieter time. I knew I would soon be departing. I felt I had survived the evening without too much embarrassment. Perhaps I just came off as dull to the group instead of a weirdo.

"Cooper knows Trent Kyriazi," Emory said.

Zane gasped. "From the radio? That wonderful gay man on `The Morning Show'?"

"Yes. He and I go running once a week."

They suddenly fawned over me. I had become interesting. I apparently looked gay to them in that moment.

"I'm also friends with the person his second play is based on."

Trent was the right topic to make me fit in. We talked for about 15 minutes, and I felt better. At that point, I felt my visit was fine and noted I needed to head home.

After I had thanked my hosts, Emory walked out to the car with me. I thanked him for inviting me and apologized if I embarrassed him in any way.

"Don't be silly. I'm glad you were here."

We smiled at each other. I was the first to kiss him on the cheek. Emory kissed me on the lips. Simple, short ... and I was caught off guard.

"I'll see you Sunday for a little bit, but I can't stay too long," he said.

As I sat in my car, I asked myself, "Am I now a gay person who kisses other gay friends on the lips?" I debated the question during the entire drive home.

 

—

 

"I take it you are all packed and ready?" I asked Emory as I sat down with my coffee. Black.

"Yep. The car is all packed. I need to set out in about 20 minutes. I have several hours to drive. I told them I could make it by dinner if it wasn't too early.

"How long is this trip?"

"About three weeks. I won't be here your next time you don't have Corey."

"It was sweet you made an effort this morning. I appreciate that, but I don't know if I am worthy of you delaying your drive."

"Sure you are. I see you more than any other friend, Cooper. I find our time special. I appreciate you."

"Wow. Thanks," I said, blushing.

"And I appreciate you not freaking out when I had that crush on you too."

"You kissed me on the lips Friday night."

"Yeah. I did Zane and Enrique too. Alayna as well. I haven't been forward enough to do it to Doug."

We both chuckled.

"Did it bother you?" he asked.

"No. It was ... um ... kind of sweet, I guess. As long as I'm not sending mixed signals to you."

"You're not. Trust me. You just opened up my heart a few weeks ago. Reality has settled in ... a little. I can always dream though."

"As long as you don't fantasize about me."

Emory took a drink of coffee and his eyes stared straight up to the ceiling.

"Oh my gosh!" I looked around to see if I had attracted attention, then lowered my voice. "You don't think of me when you masturbate do you?"

Emory was quiet a moment. "You need to think of someone," he said coyly.

My eyes drilled lasers through his face.

"Just shut up and be flattered. It's just fantasy, and not to burst your ego, it is only from time to time. And at my age, It's not like I'm shooting jizz around the room nightly."

Lord, sometimes Emory could outdo Lance for being blunt. I waved the whole conversation away with my hand flopping back and forth. I should have found it a little unsettling, but like he said, I was actually a little flattered.

"If it makes you feel any better, Brad and cinnamon rolls have entered my thoughts from time to time too."

I laughed. I laughed hard. Brad came over to check on our coffee. That made me stop, almost in a jolt of panic.

"Are my fellas doing okay here?"

I simply nodded. Emory smiled at Brad.

"I wish I could enjoy whatever you are hawking today," Emory said, "but I'm about to head out of town in a few minutes," he said holding his hand over his cup.

Brad listened for a few minutes to hear of Emory's trip. Then feeling like he wanted to take a fresh cup with him, Emory allowed Brad to top him off. Me too.

"So what did everyone at dinner say about me when I left. Did they think I was a total loser?"

"No. Not at all," Emory quickly replied. He tilted his head back and forth from side to side: "Handsome ... quiet ... reserved ..."

"I suppose I could have been called much worse. I'm sure they were being polite."

"I appreciated you being there. I didn't get a sense of pity Friday night with you there. There was no `Oh, poor Emory is all alone' vibe going on."

"They know we are just friends, right?"

"100 percent."

After that, Emory stood. I stood as well so I could give him a hug. "Text me from time to time to let me know how your trip is going."

Emory smiled at that. We looked at each other and gave one another a kiss on the cheek. Emory then waved goodbye. I sat back down to enjoy my coffee. I was at the window and enjoyed gazing out at the gay men in short shorts and tight shirts — or no shirts. I wouldn't be caught dead in public wearing that, but it was nice to look. I hadn't had sex in a week. Perhaps I should go out with Mitchell again. He's been wanting it. Maybe I could move forward in reestablishing "us."

As I continued to enjoy the view out the window, Brad came and sat with me for a moment.

"Did I hear correctly a while ago? I wasn't next to your table, but did I hear you call yourself a loser?"

"Oh. That. I went to dinner with a few of Emory's friends. I'm somewhat awkward in the gay world. I figured they thought I was a total oddball. Luckily, they didn't. Or at least didn't speak of it to Emory. Or so he says. I'm sure they thought I was clueless."

"Why?"

"On a gay scale, this couple was a 10. I'm barely a 2."

"And what is measured on this gay scale exactly?" Brad countered.

"Terminology, gay culture, experience, dress ..."

"And you felt judged?"

"Not by anything they did or said. I just know I'm kind of a misfit. I'm trying to get over it. I'm just feeling a bit alone in the whole big, scary gay world."

Brad reached for my hand. "You'll meet someone."

"But that's what's scary. I'll never measure up to what anyone wants."

"Sweetie, if I wasn't 15 years younger than you, I'd be all over you. Emory thinks you're a dream ..."

"Did he say that to you?"

"No. It's on his face. Once you two started meeting, he sort of lit up again."

"Did you know Gene?"

"I had only met him two or three times before ... well, you know. When Emory started coming back to Joe, he was grieving, processing. Eventually he seemed to be in an okay place, but ... it was you, Cooper, who woke him up."

"I don't want to send mixed signals."

"I don't think you are. My point is you have something to offer. So you're not a huge queen. Must you be?"

"Maybe not. I'm scared to meet somebody. I was so good with Mitch. We've started seeing each other again a little bit."

"Clarify."

"My ex-boyfriend. Cheated."

"Him or you?"

"He did. In our bed. I can't get past it, but I love him enough to miss everything about us."

"Tricky. Dangerous waters, tread carefully."

"I know. What other choice do I have though? Mitch knows me, everything about me, loves my son, he still loves me..."

"He's your comfort zone."

I was silent.

"That's exactly what it is."

"You two might work things out, but if not ... you'll have no problems. You're a catch."

"Flatterer. You have no idea what baggage comes with Cooper."

"Everyone has baggage. You have heart and kindness — or at least from what I can tell from bringing you coffee and pastries."

I chuckled.

"You're very kind, Brad. I've come to enjoy seeing you on these Sundays too."

Brad stood and kissed the top of my head. "Flirt," he said, filling my coffee. My hand could feel the heat through the cup immediately. "You'll meet someone when the time is right."

As he walked away, I said, "Hey! Fifteen years? How old do you think I am?" He chuckled as he turned into the kitchen.

Even though my friends seemed to think I would have no problems, I still didn't feel the courage. And as I pondered it, I realized there was no rush. I could just enjoy my time with Corey in his teen years, before he whisked off to college in London or Paris or New York or... My head would be clearer then. And perhaps I could make it work with Mitchell. There was no rush. Work, the house and Corey were more than enough to occupy my time.

Time. I looked at the time. I felt I should probably move on with my day. I could barely take a sip; the coffee was still hot. Brad had taken my lid, but I could go ask for another one and take this with me. I stood and turned.

"Damn!" a gentleman screamed as I crashed into him. My coffee splashed into his shirt. "OW! Damn, ow, ow, ow!" I saw brown, scorching liquid staining the man's light blue polo. He was pulling it away from his skin.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I know that's hot. Quick, go pull it off in the bathroom and wash it out. I will run next door and grab you a shirt."

The man was clenching his teeth and pulling the hot fabric away from his skin.

"Brad!" I called out.

"I'm on it. I saw."

I watched the entire coffeeshop look at me as I darted out the door. I ran over to Attitudes, a gay gift store next door. They didn't have much of a selection in the way of clothes, but I grabbed a T-shirt from a rack near the counter. Would a large or extra-large fit him better? He was slightly shorter than me. A large would probably be right, but if it was too small, then I was just complicating my mistake. I charged the XL and darted back to Joe.

Brad was standing outside the bathrooms. He waited for me to return. "I think he's okay."

I noticed the manager mopping the site of our collision. Our two coffees made quite the splatter. I turned to the men's room door and softly knocked. "It's me. I have a shirt for you."

I heard the doorknob turn. I went in.

"Hi. Here. I'm so sorry. They didn't have much of a selection. I'm so sorry," I said handing him a shirt. "I'm sorry."

The gentleman took the shirt from me. I stared at his chest for a moment as he rolled the shirt up to pull over his head. I thought his chest was beautiful. Hairier than Mitch's (and certainly mine). I always liked a hairy chest. The shirt pulled down below his belt. I should have gotten the large. This hung on him a bit. The design was a rainbow flag with the town courthouse silhouetted in the foreground. The words "Jackson Bend" were printed below.

"They didn't have much of a choice. I'm sorry. Did the coffee come out? I'm sorry."

My face was frantic. I felt horrible. For the first time we both looked at each other in the face.

"What's your name?"

"Cooper. I'm so sorry."

"Cooper, relax. I'm fine. I'm okay. I know it was an accident. Thank you for the shirt; that was kind. Why don't we get out of here."

I opened the door and the two of us walked out into the main area. Several eyes turned to stare at us. I was mortified I had created such a spectacle. Gawd.

"Have a seat, gents. I'll have two new coffees to you in a second," Brad called to us.

I returned to where I was sitting, and this gentleman looked at me in an expression that said, "May I join you?" I nodded and extended an open palm to the seat across from me.

"I'm sorry. I don't know your name."

"Larry."

"I'll happily replace the shirt. Let me know how much you need."

"Cooper. Relax. It's okay. If the stain doesn't come out, it doesn't come out. I'll live."

"But it's my fault."

"Maybe, maybe not. We just collided."

"It kind of happened back to me in February. Someone poured coffee down my leg. We now see each other every other Sunday morning. He just had to leave a little while ago actually."

"Oooo, a real boy-meets-boy scenario."

"Ha. Nothing like that. He's in his 60s. We're just friends. Heaven knows I need those."

Brad came over with two cups, plus a cinnamon roll. "The roll is on the house," he said. He placed my black coffee in front of me. "Maybe keep the lid on this time?" he said to me with a wink. "Laramie, you had a mocha latte, right?"

He nodded.

"Thanks, Brad," we both said.

I took a sip through the hole in the lid. "Nope. Can't do that." I started to peel it off. "Watch out, I'm getting dangerous here."

He chuckled.

Brad had not brought an extra plate but did bring two forks. We both reached for one, not really knowing what to say. "Mmm" we echoed in unison at the taste of the warm pastry.

"Brad called you Laramie instead of Larry."

"It's my real name. I don't always go by it."

"It's beautiful; I love it."

"Uck. I'm not a fan. I think I was named after an old relative I never met. I've never liked it. Laramie. It sounds ... biblical, like Lazarus or something."

"I don't know. It has a western feel to it. It has country character."

"Well, that fits. I grew up on a farm."

We took another bite of cinnamon roll.

"So what about you, Cooper? Tell me about yourself."

"Ohhh, let's not make me look any worse right off the bat," I joked.

For a few minutes we talked about the coffeeshop. I mentioned coming on Sundays. He said he typically came in around 11 but was early today because of an unexpected delivery at his work. He treated himself to a cup on Wednesday mornings before heading into work. We made friendly — and colorful — comments about Brad. He apparently had met Doreen at some point. Penny works the room when Brad is off. He usually commands Sundays but has to be out from time to time.

"Do you mind if I call you Laramie?"

"If you wish."

"So what do you do, if I may ask?"

"I'm a carpenter."

"Well, that's different. I do believe you are the first carpenter I have ever met. How interesting."

"Oh, well I don't know about that."

"Hey, I'm an accountant. Compared to me, you're fascinating."

"Well, I'm sure you make more than I do."

"Eh. That's all surface. I'm sure you enjoy your work more than me."

"Maybe. Although, I could see some people sorting of geeking out on numbers."

I laughed. "Maybe. Perhaps from time to time. So, what kind of things do you build?"

"Furniture. Shelving, cabinetry, tables ... that kind of thing."

"Wow. I'd love to see your work someday."

"I actually own a shop four blocks away. It's called Jenkins Mantle. That's my last name."

"Jenkins or Mantle?"

"Jenkins, smart aleck," he said with a grin.

"Are you from around here?"

"No. Several hours from here. Eureka, Kansas. I got a degree in management. I worked in a department store for about two years. I realized I hated it. I worked with my hands growing up. I loved building things. I decided to follow what I love doing."

"I love that. So what brought you to Jackson Bend?"

Laramie went silent. He didn't say anything. He took a sip of coffee. "Next topic."

I could tell I had landed on a sore subject. I momentarily felt uncomfortable.

"So other than flinging coffee and being an accountant, what else is there to Cooper?" he asked.

Hmm. What to share and what to keep close to the vest, for now? Although we had been talking several minutes, he was still pretty much a stranger. What put me in the least awkward light?

"Well. I have a son. He's 13, almost 14. I was married for 14 years. My wife and I ... ex-wife ... get along pretty well now. I'm building a house. That's about it."

"That's enough to make you quite intriguing."

"Why?" I asked. "Because I was living a straight life for a while?"

"Sure. That's something I can't relate to."

"Well, I don't know how interesting it would make me. I'm pretty good at messing things up. Or being in the middle of messed up things."

He patted my arm. "We can swap stories one day."

It made me look at Laramie with scrutiny. He was probably about five-foot-eleven. He had facial scruff, probably not having shaved over the weekend. Possibly three or four days. His dark brown hair had just a hint of red to it. I had seen his beautiful chest. He had nice arms too. The shirt I bought him hung on him slightly too big. He was in pleated shorts. I could see one of his legs sticking out from the side of the table. Nice legs. I wouldn't have considered him amazingly handsome, but certainly good looking enough. Kind of like that boy next door or the coworker you feel comfortable with. Everyday handsome.

As my gaze met his eyes again, I wondered if he was doing the same to me. How did I size up?

Both of us were about finished with our coffee. It was my third cup; I was going to be going to the bathroom all morning.

"So, if I came in earlier on Sundays, I might see you again?"

"Uh, well, sure. I meet Emory usually. Older gentleman. He's on a trip, so ... he won't be here in two weeks. I'll be here then, by myself, I guess. I have my son every other weekend."

"Well, if you want some company, perhaps I'll see you then."

I smiled but didn't say anything. We both finished our coffee.

"Cooper, would you like to get dinner this week?"

"Ohhh, Laramie, I'm coming off a hard breakup and actually seem to be taking steps to perhaps patch it up. I'm not up to dating. I'm a mess."

"Could you use another friend?"

"Huh?"

"We don't have to make it a date. We can just have dinner as friends. I don't have many. I've enjoyed talking with you. Meeting for dinner with somebody might be nice for me. Didn't you say you wanted more friends?"

I thought about it. It wasn't a date. Mitch and I were just "seeing each other," but not committed, obviously. Emory said I needed to make friends. After a brief moment of hesitation, I felt comfortable enough to meet Laramie in a restaurant.

"Why not? I have ... a meeting ... on Wednesdays, but I could do Tuesday or Thursday."

"How about Tuesday. 7 o'clock?"

"Sure. But how do you know I don't spill coffee on someone every week just to get dinner invitations?"

Laramie laughed for several seconds.

"I'll risk it. If it's a ploy, I'll just play along with your scheme."

I gave him a big smile. He reached for my phone. I had placed it at the edge of the table when I had checked the time a few minutes ago. He held up the phone and took a selfie. He tapped a few keys.

"You now have my contact info."

"With a photo of the shirt I bought you even," I said blankly, looking at the screen.

We both stood and planned to exit together. He reached down and picked up his wet shirt. I grimaced looking at it dangling from his grip. I was such an idiot. He still reached out to shake my hand.

As we walked out, I noticed Brad giving me a huge grin. If it was able to say words, it would have spoken, "See? Told you." I shook my head, trying to say back, "It's not what you think." His lips twisted into a smirk. I could just picture Brad saying, "Um hmm." He winked at me, and I turned to the door. Laramie and I waved to each other as we walked to our cars.

 

—

 

"I talked to Lance today. Jakob seems to be getting more involved with the community," Trent said, as he, Mike and I had walked about a quarter mile.

"That's good, right?"

"I think so. Sure. I got the feeling Lance is feeling a little left out. I'm sure they will talk it out."

"I miss them," I said. "Our AA group really misses them. I feel bad for not having gone up to see them yet. I need to."

"They'd love that," said Mike.

"Okay, let's run," said Trent.

Ugh. We started to jog the next quarter mile. It wasn't as horrible as when I first started running with Trent. I had built up a little stamina, but I was nowhere in his league. Mike and I had a similar pace. I was the oldest and felt every bit of it. Lance was right, though. I felt less stress, I had dropped a few pounds — the exercise was good for me. More than that though, I just enjoyed visiting with Mike and Trent.

We slowed down to walk again.

"Something odd happened at Joe this morning. I dumped coffee all over a guy."

"No!" said Mike.

"Yeah. I was mortified. I ran next door to get him a new shirt. I may have ruined the one he was wearing."

"Man, someone dropped coffee on you in the winter. That place is a disaster waiting to happen," Trent said.

"I'm not sure two spills counts as a disaster. I'm sure they have spills almost every day."

"I suppose."

"Anyway, I'm having dinner with him Tuesday."

"Look at you!" Mike said. "Turning an accident into a way to snag a date."

"Nope, not a date. Just dinner. I told him I wasn't ready to date. I mean Mitch and I are seeing each other, so I should probably figure that out first."

"How's that going?" Trent asked.

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure if it is ... going. We were so close — in love — for two years. We lived together. So now just simply dating is ... odd. It seems weird. But our time together is nice. I like it. I guess I'll see how it plays out."

"So what's this new guy like?"

"Laramie? Seems nice. We enjoyed talking. He's a carpenter ... from the country."

"Interesting," said Trent.

"Emory keeps encouraging me to make new friends. I didn't really click with his. Aside from you two and him, I don't feel like I have a lot of friends to socialize with."

"No one from work?"

"Only Mitch. I mean, I like people there, I guess. After all these years, I guess we all live our own lives but don't really go out after work or anything. Having another friend could be nice. I already like him better than Emory's friends."

"Well then, good for you," Mike said.

We ran again, then walked, then ran. We talked a little more of Trent's play. Mike lamented seeing Back to School commercials on television. I talked some of how the house was progressing and looking forward to having them over one day.

At the end of the run, I thanked them for their company. I knew I needed a shower. Sweaty as we were, I kissed both of them on the cheek, and they returned it just the same. I was so comfortable with that now. Look at me, I was making baby steps in the gay world.

"Let us know how your dinner goes," Trent said, with just the slightest hint in his voice that he still considered it a date.

 

—

 

As I lay in bed, for some reason I couldn't pinpoint, my thoughts drifted to Henry Kammerdiener in high school. Things were so much simpler. Neither of us knew anything. The simplest touch was magic. I thought of when his hand was on my hip, how electric that was.

My dick became hard, and I pulled off my boxers. I enjoyed touching myself. I remembered my first touch on his cock. I thought about gently feeling his balls after he had come. As we prepared to sleep, I loved my hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin with my fingers. His chest was smooth with just the slightest hint of fuzz starting to grow on his pecs.

A minute later, I hadn't realized the transition, but my thoughts were of my fingers running through the hair on Laramie's chest. When I became aware of the shift in my thoughts' focus, I was slightly surprised. But I didn't shift back to Henry. Or even Mitchell. I just kept thinking about how nice his chest looked. I thought about letting my fingers roam across his pecs, feeling the softness of his hair. Hair was on his belly. It thickened as it traveled further into areas I hadn't seen. What were they like? It was a masculine body. I wanted to see it. What was his dick like? I felt myself jerking harder.

"OhhhhuuuuUUUNGH!" I grunted. Cum shot up my chest. I watched as the last two spurts of semen spasmed from my erection.

I rested my head back down on the pillow, surprised that my orgasm had come more quickly than expected. Just thinking about his dick made me come. What was that all about? I so didn't need to tread into that minefield. I already felt like I had been leading Emory on. I didn't need to start anything stupid with a new friend.

I got up and cleaned off my chest. I crawled back into bed, still naked, and turned on my side to where I would have been looking at Mitchell if he were there. My mind imagined seeing him, then Henry, then Laramie. They all shifted in and out like a video game. Those three faces were a mental game of Whac-A-Mole. My penis had already softened and shrunk. My fingers cupped over its small size anyway as I thought about the bodies of each man. Minutes later, I fell asleep with my hand still on my crotch.

 

—

 

Mitchell and I would have lunch twice a week, once on his floor, once on my floor. Several people ate out on their lunch break, but the majority brought in something. I usually went out once a week, and often we entertained clients. Mitch might have wanted us to eat together every day, but I figured he didn't want to crowd me. He probably thought some space might help.

As we sat in the lounge on the fourth floor, I talked a bit about the house and Corey. Mitchell didn't seem to have much to share except for summarizing a series he had started streaming. I mentioned my coffee incident with Laramie. He laughed.

I didn't tell him I was seeing him for dinner tomorrow. I wasn't sure why I wouldn't disclose that. It wasn't like a date or anything. At the same time, I felt I didn't owe Mitchell an explanation for anything. We were simply dating. If I wanted to date someone else, I could do so. But if he was doing the same, how would I have felt about that? He was trying to prove his love to me, but was I holding him to a different standard?

But it wasn't a date.

 

—

 

Laramie had texted me he felt like a burger. That certainly dispelled any thoughts of a romantic date. Unless you're a teenager. I wasn't familiar with McGee's, but he provided the address. As I entered the door, I wasn't sure what to tell the hostess. I had no idea if he was already here. Then I saw a hand waving at me. I pointed to him and smiled and nodded at the hostess. As I walked the aisle to his table, I would occasionally here the crunch of peanut shells on the hardwood floor. As I moved into a booth with Laramie, I saw shells everywhere under the table. A tin bucket of peanuts was on every table. Laramie was popping a few nuts into his mouth as I said "hello."

He smiled, swallowed, and finally said, "It's good to see you, Cooper."

Laramie looked different than at the coffeeshop. At Joe, he gave off a boy-next-door cuteness. This evening he was wearing a cowboy hat, a beautiful burgundy long sleeve shirt and a suede vest. He looked very country. And very hot. I liked everything about the look.

I figured a burger place was a bit much for a sport coat, but I left it on anyway. No tie. My long-sleeve was light blue, the jacket navy. I had changed into a pair of jeans.

"That's a good look for you," I said. "I like it."

"Likewise," he returned.

Laramie told me a bit of history surrounding the restaurant. Looking at the décor and the furnishing, I'm surprised I was unaware of it. McGee's had lots of charm.

I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with tots. He went grander with something called Panhandler that was slathered in grilled onions, jalapenos, a fried egg and something called Pecos sauce. We handed our menus to our server, Patrice.

"How was work?" I asked. I felt it was a safe enough question to start.

"Pleasantly busy. People must be using the summer to rethink their homes. I've received quite a few orders to build libraries and shelving."

"Well, that's nice." I smiled, not sure how to follow up. "I really should come see your place."

"Eighth and McClure, next to a nail salon. So how was work for you?"

"Busy. We just took on a new client — BIG client — and my workload has still not subsided. It's all good, though. It involved a promotion, which made my new house possible."

"When is that supposed to be done?"

"Well, that depends upon which day of the week and which guy you talk to," I said with a smile. "I do like my builder, but answers seem to float around. It should be sometime in the fall."

"Nice."

"I am intrigued to see if you might be able to build what I'm picturing for the library. Sounds like I should get my order in."

As we talked shoptalk, Patrice brought me an iced tea and Laramie a draft beer.

"Oh, they have pitchers here. I should have asked if you wanted to share one. Do you like beer?"

"I'm good," I calmly said.

"My house isn't that big. The master bedroom is nice, one bedroom is okay, a tad small. The third is pretty small in my opinion, like a nursery. I can't see a teenager being confined to it."

"Well, I told you Sunday I was reacting to a recent breakup. So I'll ask. Is the place all to yourself, I assume?"

"Oh yeah. I don't think I'd need to ask friends out to dinner if I was still involved. That's been a while."

"I see. Messy?"

"Nah. We just ... weren't at the same place. We probably drug it out longer than it needed to be. He was younger, still in his 20s. He had started going to gay bars at the end of college. We met at Lamar Station, you know, the country-and-western gay bar."

"Haven't been."

"I actually think we fell in love after a month of seeing each other. We were great for quite a while. Less than a year later, I wanted to move forward. I asked him to move in with me just before his lease was going to be up. He ... turned me down. We drifted quickly. I wasn't enough for him to be fully open with his family."

"Don't be hard on yourself."

"Maybe. Perhaps I should say he wanted someone different than who I was. For a while, I wanted us to completely commit. Not marriage or anything, but ... he wasn't ready. He still had closeted fears. Then we just ... weren't the same."

I tried to make my eyes express empathy.

"So how about you? Messy breakup? You're fixing it, right?"

Crap. I was so lousy at explaining Mitch and me because I didn't have a handle on it. I hardly knew Laramie; what kind of garbage did I want to litter at his feet. I did need friends. He didn't need a basket case to have to contend with though.

"Uhhh. Kinda messy. Cheated."

"Uh oh. Him or you?"

"Oh, HE was the one who cheated. I walked in on them ... during."

"Holy fuck. That can't be pleasant."

"No. We were done, as far as I was concerned. He still insists he loves me and is trying to make me take him back."

"Do you want to?"

"That's a hard one, Laramie. Mitch was the one who brought me out of the closet. He was my rope, my guide. I'll always love him for that. And yeah, I have strong feelings for him. I do. This ... crappy trust issue is just standing in my way."

I wanted to use the word shitty, but it wasn't like me to cuss. What kind of an image did I think I needed to portray? If I cussed, would I appear more manly? I was ashamed of myself for even thinking that.

"Well. I hope it turns out the way that makes you the happiest. If you were meant to be, you'll know it. If not, there are plenty of fish in the sea. Even as a gay man. I could finally realize that after I left small-town Kansas."

"I wish I felt more comfortable with that. Mitch taught me so much. We even work in the same building. Without him, I feel like I'm floundering, a real misfit."

"Just be yourself."

"You sound like Emory."

Laramie gave me a quizzical look.

"My older coffee friend," I explained. "He tells me to not worry about it and be myself."

"Good advice. I thought you were very nice. And look, you've made another friend."

"After exhibiting my skilled athletic prowess. I'm surprised you feel safe enough to be at the same table."

"You're easy to look at, too," he said.

I think we both kind of blushed. Fortunately, the burgers came. His looked insane.

"How can you even attempt to eat that."

"Oh, I've had many."

We stopped talking and began chomping away at our meal. Outside of grabbing fast food with Corey, I hadn't had a big burger like this in quite some time. I told Laramie just that. I also complimented his choice of places. The food was delicious, and I liked the casual atmosphere.

"I'm amazed your stomach can take that."

"Most of the times it does, but sometimes it doesn't. It's worth the risk. This burger is to die for."

Laramie struck me as genuine. He didn't try to be anyone other than himself. Good for him. I could learn from him. I pondered if I could ask him to take some jogs with me, but I wasn't sure if he gave off a runner vibe. He was simply nice. In contrast to Emory's friends, I think the two of us could have talked all night. I liked his simplicity. Perhaps my accidental flub was a matter of destiny; I could actually make new friends. With no pressure as a date, I found myself enjoying my time with him. No stupid thoughts from the bed the other night. No attempts for me to try and impress him. I think he needed a friend too. This was good.

"You mentioned a son. Tell me about him."

This was bad. Corey kind of comes with a failed heterosexual marriage, an awkward divorce and alcoholism problem. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable.

"Another beer, champ?" Patrice asked Laramie as she topped off my iced tea.

"Sure. Want something?" he asked, looking at me.

"I'm good. Thanks."

After Patrice walked away, Laramie looked into the middle space of nothingness. "Where were we? Oh yeah, your son."

"Corey's awesome. He's about to turn 14, but there are times he seems like he is 20. Mature. Resilient. I couldn't be prouder of him."

"Um. Can I ask if there is a mom in the picture? I'm not sure of your situation, if I may ask."

"Oh dear. Okay. I hate to lay this on you during our first dinner out, but ... yeah. I was married 14 years. Then I wrestled with who I was. Finally admitted it. And ..."

"It's okay. You don't owe me any explanation."

"I developed a drinking problem. I'm ... I'm an alcoholic. I'm in AA. Sober for almost two years. But that whole scenario sort of crashed into rubble. For a few weeks, I tried to make that rubble a home. And it just didn't work. In a drunken fit of anger, I pushed Corey to the ground. That was the turning point. So, there it is. I accepted I was gay, joined AA and now ... now I am living an honest life. I'm me."

He smiled but didn't say anything.

"See why I am a total mess?"

"You're not a mess. You're a human being confronting what life has thrown out. You should feel proud of what you've accomplished. Did you find support from your family?"

"OH NO. Super religious. I'm some sort of a pariah. It's hard to be with them."

Laramie snatched my wrist. "I totally understand!" He seemed to startle himself by his knee-jerk reaction and gently let go. I figured there was a tender wound under the surface there somewhere.

We tried to lighten the mood. He let me talk about the company picnic a bit; I told him about Corey's choir program. He shared things I didn't know about horses; I asked about his favorite furniture project ever. We talked about simple gay things: movies we'd seen, what little wardrobe either of us had, Pride parades, gay people in television commercials.

"Full confession, I don't know what letters come after LGBTQ," I said.

"My confession? I can't even explain the Q."

We chuckled and continued to crunch on peanuts even though neither of us were remotely hungry anymore. After tonight, I knew I needed a longer run tomorrow. I realized we had visited for more than two hours.

"I'm sure Patrice would love to turn this table," I said. "I should probably head home."

"Me, too. I need to go in early tomorrow." Laramie looked at me. "I've enjoyed this, thanks for meeting me."

"I have too."

If I was honest with myself, I would admit that I felt less alone. I had no idea what Laramie's baggage might be or if he was working through anything at all. But I felt less alone. In some ways, he was a kindred soul. I felt less of a gay misfit.

We tipped Patrice big, and she called us "handsome" and "good lookin'" when she picked up the payments and wished us good night. I needed to return to this establishment.

We walked out together. Before separating to our cars, I pondered if I could give Laramie a hug. Would that be too forward this soon?

"Laramie ..."

I didn't finish. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a squeeze.

"I needed tonight. Thanks."

"Maybe I'll see you at Joe in a couple of weeks?" I posed.

"I'd like that."

During my drive home, I used my Bluetooth to call Lance.

"Hey," he answered. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, it's almost 10. I was just wondering."

"I'm sorry. It is a tad late."

"No, no, no problem. What's up?"

"Nothing really. I was just thinking about you. >From time to time, people remind me of you."

"Should I be flattered or insulted?"

We laughed.

"Emory is blunt like you. I've told you about him. I've ... um, met someone new. We went out to dinner tonight. He was easy to talk to, like you."

"Well, great. I hope it turns into something good."

"Well, it wasn't a date really. Just friends going out. I need to make new friends; I need more friends. No one can ever really replace you and Jakob, of course, but ..."

"Aw."

"...but as a recovering alcoholic, I should probably expand my support system."

"True."

"I don't know. I was just thinking about you and wanted to call. I apologize for not getting up to Von to see you guys. I promise I will."

"It's tricky with a son. We understand."

"I sure miss you. Jakob too. I guess I called to say, `I love you.' Sorry it's a bit late."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Totally. Give Jakob a hug for me."

 

—

 

"Hi, I'm Ophelia. I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi, Ophelia," the group replied.

"My daughter has started driving. I think my nerves are frazzled beyond belief."

Some of the group nodded, some chuckled. I knew, however, I was only two years from going through this. I listened to Ophelia intently.

"She's actually quite good. So far. No problems. It just worries me. You think when they get older you should worry less. Oh, no. There are just new things to worry about. I don't know why this is getting to me. I guess because I can see such horrible consequences. I suppose that's natural for any parent. I just feel I am dealing with it poorly. And if I'm honest, I feel like she is becoming more independent, and this is a progression of that. She won't need me much longer. If I didn't have my husband, I think I would be a house of cards. He's helping me through this one."

Swell. I had no one. There was no guarantee that I would in two years either. But Natalie and I would bear this brunt together.

"Thank you," she said.

The group clapped.

"Hi, I'm Cooper. I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi, Cooper," the group replied.

"I had felt like an oddball lately. You all know I'm gay. You know Mitch and I split. I felt like he was the only person that could anchor me in the gay world. I'm not sure why I felt that way; he just always was. I had dinner last night with someone, and for the first time, I felt like some of that had lifted. I felt good about myself. Well, that's a lie. I guess I felt less bad about myself. People kept telling me to be me, just be myself. And it worked. I mean, it wasn't a real date or anything, but ... it was nice. I enjoyed it. I felt less alone. I needed a new friend."

Ophelia smiled at me.

"I guess that's it. Thank you."

The group clapped.

Following the meeting, I helped put away the chairs.

"I liked your share, Cooper," Ophelia said.

"And yours terrified me. Corey will be there before I know it."

"Oh child, for sure. Buckle up." She chuckled. "I'm glad you made a new friend. That's awesome. Just don't forget us here. We know who you are. We love you for who you are. You're never alone, okay?"

I hugged her. I knew what she was saying. I knew it was the truth but being the only gay man left in our group (that I knew of), I needed those friends that were like me. I felt she understood what I was saying, but her comments were comforting, nonetheless.

 

—

 

Mitch and I had not had sex in 10 days. I knew; I counted. I was horny.

"Did you bring lunch today?" I asked him on the phone.

"Sorry, I have a lunch meeting. I can do dinner tonight if you'd like to go out."

"Yeah. Yes, I would."

"Wonderful. Want to meet at my place at 6?"

 

—

 

Mitch gently bit my ear as his cock dripped cum onto my stomach. He panted in my ear with each pulse of his orgasm. I could feel his dick slide through my own cum around my navel and torso. I loved it when our cum intermingled. I thought it was sensual. His lips planted themselves on mine, and we went through a moment of slow, passionate kissing.

He lifted off me, but still hovered above my body. I turned to the clock. 6:38.

"So. Dinner?" I smiled.

He smiled back. "I know just what I want for starters."

Mitchell ran his tongue through my cum and then wrapped his lips around my cock. I wasn't hard anymore, but still fairly long. For me. His tongue swirled around my penis, spreading my cum all over my anatomy.

He took his mouth off and ran it through the cum cocktail of both our orgasms. He moved up to my face again, and our tongues wrestled tasting the tasteless liquid in our shared consuming kiss. We were absorbed by passionate kissing for several minutes.

6:50.

My body was a mess. The cum of two men had dripped, spread, dried and lathered all over me. Even after the passion of our lovemaking had ended, the whole scene was hot to me.

"Okay, now dinner," he said. "But we need to clean up a little if we hope to get any clothes on."

A minute later he was wiping down my chest and his dick with a warm washcloth. He leaned down to kiss me again.

"I'm glad you are spending the night."

 

* * * *

 

I introduced new people this chapter. It won't be the last secondary characters to find their way into Coffee at 9. More to come.