Don't Wanna Be Lonely Tonight

By Tim Mead

Chapter 10

There's nothing like sex at bedtime to help you sleep, especially if you doze off wrapped in the arms of your lover.  Unless it's wakeup sex . . . .

Russ had his left arm under my head.  I ran the tip of my finger around his right nipple, which firmed up nicely.  A little ring of dark red hair encircled it.  He shivered, took my hand, and kissed it.

"Have you ever come in your pants?" I asked.

He gave me a look, like he thought it was a strange question.  "Not since I was a kid."

I pulled his hand to my lips, kissed it, and released it. Then I ran my fingertips across his sternum and down to his navel.  He giggled this time.

"Stop!  I can't think when you're doing that."

"So who needs to think?"  I scooted down and began sucking and nipping at the closest nub.

Since he didn't object, I continued.

As we were showering, he asked, "Why did you ask about coming in my pants?"

"Oh, that.  Tell you later."

He put his arms around me and held me under the shower head.  "Tell me now!"

"Brute!" I sputtered.  "Can't talk if you're drowning me!"

He laughed.  "Okay, but you're telling me about that before you get any breakfast."

"I could fix my own breakfast, thank you very much."

"Baxter Crouse, you can be the most exasperating . . ."

I put my finger against his lips.  "If your next word is going to be `little,' you'd better stop while you still have your balls, big boy."

Downstairs in the kitchen, I insisted on doing the breakfast for a change.  I handed him a glass of orange juice, set a plate of eggs fried just the way he liked them, with toast on the side to dip in the yolks, and poured coffee into the mug at his place.

"IcameinmypantswhenMitchandCoreywere here."

He raised an eyebrow, making me think of Mitch.  "Say that again, but this time louder and slower."

I sat, took a gulp of orange juice and said, "The night those guys were here, you know, because you sent them, I came in my pants."

"I thought you said nothing happened."

"Well, that's all that happened."

"You wanna `splain me that?"

"While they were telling me why they were there . . . and this wasn't until after we'd had the pie and some drinks . . . Mitch was in one of the big chairs, and Corey was beside me on the couch."

Russ was chewing on a piece of toast, so he merely nodded.  But I could tell he was listening carefully.

"Think about it!  Here were these two guys that you know I love, each of them hot in his own way, saying they were here to have sex with me – with your blessing!"

"And you got hot thinking about the possibilities?"

"Yeah, that. . . but Corey was running his fingertips up and down the short hairs on the back of my neck.  And it all just got to me.  I'd spooged my pants before I knew what was going on."

He wiped his lips with his napkin.  I loved the way his still-damp hair fell over his forehead.  

He smacked a fist into the palm of the other hand.  "Bam!  Spontaneous combustion, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"So you said `no' to them because you'd already gotten your jollies?"

"Logan Smith, I do believe you're jealous!  But before you get your knickers in a twist, I'd already told them the threeway was a no-go."

"Oh."  He grinned, so I assumed he wasn't really jealous.

"I still have trouble understanding why you told them it was okay if you really didn't want me to do it.  Was that supposed to be some kind of test?"

"Shit, hon!  I didn't mean it to be.  I knew you were missing me and horny, and it was all because of me.  I felt bad thinking about you being home alone and miserable, so I thought if you were doing it with those guys, somehow it would be okay.  But I fucked up, didn't I?"

Since we were sitting side by side at the kitchen bar, it was easy to drop my hand into his lap and grope him.

"No, gorgeous, you didn't fuck up.  You were just being noble, putting my needs ahead of yours."  And then I gave his now-hardening cock another squeeze.  "Unless, of course, you did the whole thing because you'd been screwing someone on the tour."

"Bite your tongue!"

A moment or two later, my tongue was being ever so gently bitten, but not by me.  

*          *          *

That evening or an evening soon afterward, I can't remember exactly, we were having our wine (piesporter for him, merlot for me) in the living room.  Lasagna was baking in the oven.  I'd shed my suit when I got home and pulled on jeans and a polo shirt.  Dressed similarly, Russ was in one of the big chairs.  I sat facing him in the other.

"I just remembered something."


"Yeah.  Doc Sam says you're due for a checkup."

"Did he call?"

"No, babe.  I had my checkup a while back, and he said to remind you."

"Oh, okay.  I guess I'd better call tomorrow and make an appointment."  He chuckled.  "His prostate exams are almost as good as yours."

"Don't ever tell anyone that.  He'd be in trouble with the AMA or something."

He chuckled.  "Yeah, I guess he would."

"You know, he's still alone, and that's so sad.  He's really cute."

"It's his own fault in a way.  He's the doc of most of the gay men in Zenith, and he won't date a patient."

"Well, there should be, what, 25 thousand gay men in Zenith, if the one in ten ratio is right.  So there must be a few he doesn't treat."

He laughed.  "Baxter, you aren't thinking about fixing up the good doctor, are you?"

"And what would be so wrong with that?"

"Fix-ups are just bad, that's all."

"Oh?" I said, raising an eyebrow.  "Do you recall how we met?"

He gave me that cowboy Rusty Logan grin that made me shiver.  

"How could I have forgotten?  So maybe not all fix-ups are bad.  But do you have anyone in mind for Doc Sam?"

"Not really, but I'm gonna think about it.  Meanwhile, you find out while you're in his office if he's dating anybody, okay?"

"Won't that be kind of obvious?"

"You'll think of something.  Maybe while he's tickling your prostate."

*          *          *

One evening at supper Russ said, "You know something we haven't done since I got back from the tour?"

I put down my fork and gave him what I hoped was a quizzical look.  "There must be millions of things we haven't done."

"Don't go all Mitch on me.  This is something I wish we'd do . . ."

"What's that, gorgeous?"

"We haven't danced."

"We haven't, have we?  You want to go out dancing?"

"How about right here?"

"In the kitchen?"

"No, babe, in the living room.  Let's clear away the dishes and put some danceable music on the stereo."

And that's what we did.  We moved the coffee table, he selected some CD's, and we danced.  In our socks.  Since he was taller, it worked out better if he led.

We spent a wonderful hour, my head on his shoulder, bodies comfortably close together, moving to the tunes he'd selected. We didn't talk much, but there was some contented sighing.  Finally, we collapsed onto the sofa, where a rather hot make-out session ensued.  It all culminated when we took to our bed and made sweet, slow love.

As, sated with sex, I drifted off to sleep, I thought to myself that this had been what I'd waited for during those ten weeks he was away.

*          *          *

Russ decided to join the Zenith Gay Men's Chorus not long after he came back from the tour with Apex.  They had rehearsals on Thursday evenings.  I thought it was a shame they didn't have a catchy name like Chanticleer, but I was happy he was able to put his voice to good use by doing something he enjoyed.  

I was at the PC from which I'd tapped into the University system, doing some work at home.  With Carol's impending departure and the search for her replacement well under way, I was busier than usual and happy to use Russ's evening out to get caught up.

The phone rang about 8:30.  It was his mother.


"Yes, um, hi."

"Let me speak with Logan, please."

"I'm sorry.  He's not here."

"Oh, where is he?"

"He's joined a civic chorus and is at their rehearsal this evening."

"A civic chorus.  Too bad you two don't go to church.  Then he could sing in the church choir.  You don't go to church, do you?"


There was a brief pause.  "Well, since he's not there, I want to ask you something."

"Yes, ma'am."  I wasn't brought up in the South and didn't usually call women "ma'am," but with this woman it seemed almost necessary.  Once she'd said I could call her Eleanor, but I'd never been able to bring myself to do it.

"Has Logan said anything to you about his plans?  Surely he isn't going to lie around the house all day for the rest of his life.  That's not at all like him."

"He hasn't said anything to me about his plans."  

"Surely he has!  Or," she said, a note of satisfaction creeping into her voice, "maybe you're perfectly happy having him stay home and do menial chores.  Perhaps it doesn't bother you that Logan is wasting his mind and his education."

"You're quite mistaken, Mrs. Smith.  As for his goals, I'm sure he'll tell me when he's ready," I said frostily.  "All I want is for him to be happy."

She huffed at that.  Then she said, equally frostily, "Ask him to call me . . . when it's convenient."

The Mother from Hell was right about one thing:  it was nice having Russ at home most of the day.  He kept the house clean, he ran errands, he'd even taken over managing our joint checking account and seeing that all the bills were paid.  He played racquetball one afternoon a week with Jim Goodman, and now he had his weekly choral rehearsals.  He would have done the grocery shopping during the week, too, but I insisted on going grocery shopping with him on Saturdays because I liked being involved in planning and, as often as possible, fixing meals.

But I did feel strange about his not working.  It was almost like those black and white sitcoms from the fifties where the wife stayed home all day and did the kinds of things Russ was doing for me.  We were like the Cleavers, except we weren't married, and we definitely weren't hetero.

Perhaps the major cause of my concern was, as his mother said, he was wasting his abilities.  He was too bright, too capable.  He had too much to give.  Yes, that was it, he shouldn't be squandering all he had to offer on just me.

Another nagging concern was financial.  I didn't know how much he'd made on the tour, but I doubted it was enough for him to go on paying his share of the mortgage, utilities, groceries and such indefinitely.  

I shut off the computer and went downstairs.  I was sitting in one of the big leather chairs with my feet on the hassock when he came in, humming.

"How was practice?" I asked, after welcoming him home with a kiss and a grope.

He put a hand on each of my butt cheeks and pulled our crotches together.  Except, of course, that with his long legs, my hardening cock was between his legs and his was on my lower abs.  He bent his knees a little and pulled me onto my tiptoes, so our hard cocks were pressed together.  Then he humped me a couple of times.  Just as I was getting into it, he quit and said, "It was great.  You should join the group."

"You know I can't sing."  I pulled back, and we stood there, our tents pointing at each other.

"Sure you can!  You just lack self confidence."

"When I try singing I sound like a frog with laryngitis."

"You do not!  Besides, it's not a terribly exclusive group.  I'm sure you could pass the audition."

"Audition!"  I was panicked at the thought.  "No way!  I'll just sit in the audience and applaud madly, thank you very much."  Then, mostly to change the subject, I said, "Your mother called this evening.  She wants you to call her when, to use her term,  it's convenient."

He grimaced.  "It's never convenient to be told you're a disappointment.  What did she want this time?"

"Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"I think you would like a drink.  Now, go kick off your shoes, and I'll bring you a Jack Daniels."

"Christ, Bax, was she that bad?"

I didn't answer him.  I just went to the kitchen, where I poured each of us a Jack on the rocks.  Then I took the drinks to the living room and handed him one.

"I think maybe you should just call her."

He set the drink down without tasting it.  Then he heaved a big sigh.

"Sweetie, I know she can be awful.  What did she say?"

"You're going to be upset."

He looked me straight in the eye, the look he gives me when he wants me to really hear what he's saying.  "I get upset with Mother pretty often, but I promise not to be upset with you."

It was my turn to sigh.  "Okay, if you promise."

He didn't say anything.  He just sat there looking at me intently.

"She seemed to be pissed that you didn't have a job.  Said you were wasting your abilities or something like that."

"That's it?"

"Well, no.  She also said it was my fault because I wanted to keep you here at home.  You know, as if I had you barefoot and pregnant or something."

"Shit!"  He grabbed the glass and took a healthy swig of the whiskey.  "What did I ever do to deserve a mother like that?"

I couldn't help grinning.  "To coin a phrase."

He grinned back.  "You sounded just like Mitch then."

"Sorry.  But you were being a bit dramatic, gorgeous.  And that's a terrible cliché."

Ignoring my comment, he returned to the topic.  "It's not as if Mother ever worked.  She's been a stay-at-home wife ever since she and Dad got married.  Oh, there've been her charities, but she's never been gainfully employed."

"How did they meet?"

"They met at Ohio State.  She was a junior pre-med major.  Dad was a senior majoring in business.  But when he graduated, they got married, and that ended her medical aspirations."

I thought about that for a moment.  "So perhaps she's projecting her disappointment onto you?"

"Could be."

He took another sip of his drink and then appeared to be thinking.  After maybe thirty seconds, he said, "Okay, here's what we're gonna do.  We're gonna finish our drinks.  And then we're going upstairs and make mad monkey love."

"Goody!  But what about your mom?"

"She's never been my `mom.'  She's always been Mother."

He finished his drink and stood, holding out his hand to me.  I waved him off and took my hardly-tasted drink to the kitchen where, hesitating momentarily before wasting such good booze, I dumped it.  I put the glasses in the dishwasher and went back to the foot of the stairs, where Russ was waiting.

"You go first," I said.  "I want to watch your ass while you climb the stairs."  I think he put some extra wiggle into each step of the ascent.

The next morning as I was on the Rapid, hurtling toward downtown and the U of Z campus, I realized I didn't know any more about his plans than I had before Herself called.

I didn't take my bookbag home that evening.  There'd be no homework for me that night.  After getting off the Rapid, I stopped at our favorite deli, where I picked up a mocha almond cheesecake, one of Russ's favorites.  When I got home I put the dessert on the kitchen counter so I could respond properly to the greeting I was getting.  After he'd enthusiastically welcomed me Russ peeked inside the box.

"What's the special occasion?"

"Oh, no special occasion.  Just an I-love-you surprise."

"Feeling guilty about something?"

"How could you think such a thing?" I asked with mock indignation.

I went upstairs to change out of my working togs.  Then we fixed dinner together.  Russ had found some wonderful salmon fillets, "flown in fresh that day," supposedly.  While he worked with the fish, I made rice with asparagus pieces in it and toasted slivered almonds to sprinkle on top.

Afterwards we had coffee and the cheesecake.  Russ even had a second helping.

"You'll get love-handles."

He smirked.  "Then we'll match."

I stuck out my tongue at him.

We cleaned up the kitchen and headed for the living room.

"Okay," he asked, sitting in one of the big chairs, "what was the cheesecake all about?"

"What?  Can't I just bring my lover something I know he likes?"

"Come off it, Baxter.  This is me you're talking to.  It's not like you to be spontaneous.  You've got something on your mind, and the cheesecake was to soften me up, right?"

"Uh huh."  I hadn't realized I was so obvious.

"I can't imagine why you think you need to do something like that.  We can talk about anything, can't we?"

The problem was that I had waited and waited for him to tell me what he was going to do now that he was home and, face it, jobless.  I thought he would tell me without my having to ask.  It was just damned awkward asking him.  

"I hope so."


"Well, please don't take this the wrong way, but . . ."


"I'd kind of like to know what your plans are.  I mean, I don't want to be pushy.  You know I'm just happy as can be having you home again.  But, and I can't believe I'm saying this, your mother has a point.  You've got a lot to offer . . ."  

Russ leaned forward, forearms on knees.  "It's okay, babe.  I've been wondering when you were gonna ask me about that."

"You know that anything you've decided is fine with me, gorgeous, so long as you don't leave me."

He stood up and offered me his hand.  I took it, and he pulled me up.  

"Let's sit on the sofa."

When we were together, his arm around me, my head leaning back against his shoulder, he said, "I'm not going to leave you.  And you don't need to worry about the money, you know."

I didn't know, and I had wondered.  So far he'd always come up with his share of the expenses, but I assumed he couldn't go on doing that indefinitely.

"That wasn't what's been bothering me," I said.  Which wasn't a total lie. The money wasn't the big thing that had been eating at me.

"But something has?"


"Tell me about it."  He nuzzled my ear, making me shiver.

"I can't say anything rational if you're going to do that."

He chuckled, and I could feel the vibrations.  "Okay, I'll be good.  I want to know what's on your mind."

"It's just that, well, maybe it's the way I was brought up, but I can't help thinking . . ."

"That Mother's right?"

I nodded.  "Here's the thing.  You do have too much to offer to just keep the home fires burning."  I turned and kissed his neck, noting his twitch with some pleasure.  "I feel selfish, as if I were keeping you from doing something worthwhile in the world."

"Is it that, Bax, or is it that you were brought up to think a man's a lazy bastard if he doesn't go to work every day?"

"Maybe the Puritan work ethic is more deeply ingrained in me that I would have thought.  But I know you aren't lazy.  You're paying your way, and you're pampering me.  So please don't think I'm complaining.  I guess I'd just like to know what you're thinking."

"But you'd be more comfortable if I were working?"

"That doesn't matter.  I simply want you to be happy.  Honest."

I put a hand on his chest and began to rub his left nipple, but he grabbed it.

"That's nice, sweetie, but I need to talk."

I desisted.  And rested my head on his shoulder again.  "So talk."

"First of all, you don't need to worry about me paying my share of our costs.  I guess I should have told you about the trust fund."

This was definitely not the time to say anything.  It was none of my business if he had a trust fund, but I couldn't imagine why in the time we'd been together he'd never mentioned it.  My finances were an open book to him.  After all, he'd been my broker for a while.  

He took a deep breath, and my head rode up with his chest – and went back down again when he expelled it.

"I've never meant to keep that from you.  It just never seemed to come up.  And I didn't want to just announce out of the blue, `Hey, I have a trust fund!'"

I could see that.

"My Logan grandparents left it to me.  I couldn't touch it until I was 25, but their lawyer, who was the administrator, could use it to pay for my education.  So, not long after I got my MBA and my broker's license, I took over the money.  I've been able to grow the principal nicely.  Since I got back home from the tour with Biggs, I've been using the money they paid me for my share of the expenses.  Soon, though, If I don't get a job I'm going to have to start dipping into the proceeds from the trust fund."  He stuck his nose in my hair and sniffed.  "There's no worry.  I can't join the idle rich set, but there's plenty for the lifestyle you and I have."

I thought about that for a while, comfortably snuggled against him.  From my vantage point, I was looking across his package at those long, jeans-clad legs propped on the coffee table.  But that was too distracting.  I sat up, forced my mind back to the subject, and turned to face him, drawing one leg up to hide my erection.

"It's a bit of a surprise to learn about the trust fund after all this time, but that's not really what I was wondering about."

"Yeah, I know.  But that was the easy question to answer.  I just didn't want you to think I was counting on you to support me."

In an emergency, I'd have been willing to do that, but it was comforting to know Russ wasn't expecting me to.

"The harder question to answer is what I'm going to do with my life now.  I think I'm too young to be having my midlife crisis, but I've been having a bitch of a time trying to figure out what to do next."

"Poor baby.  You're not interested in going back to what you were doing before?  I mean Pierce-Thompson isn't the only game in town."

"Definitely not that again.  It was boring, and I hated the pressure.  And all I was supposed to be doing was helping people with money get more money."

"And you've definitely given up on singing as a career?"

"Yup.  I could probably sing in a local group for chicken feed, but after the tour, I don't think I want to do that."

"Well, you've just said money isn't a problem.  If you would enjoy singing, why not?"

"Been there, done that, I guess."

"So you really don't have a clue what you want to do now?"

"I've thought of some things.  But I'm still not sure.  Can you just be patient for a while and let me sort it all out?"

"I think I can do that."

Later, after some ardent love making, we were spooned together, him behind, his limp cock pushed against my crack.  "Are you sure you're okay with all this?  I promise you I don't want to be a stay-at-home forever.  I just need you to be patient with me for a while longer."

"Take all the time you need.  I love you, not what you do for a living."

And that was true.  I was bothered by the fact that his lack of a job bothered me, but I loved him too much to tell him so. Loved him enough to take him on whatever terms I could get.

To Be Continued

Thanks to Drew, Mickey, Tinn and Bill for invaluable help with "Lonely."

This story is my intellectual property.  Do not post it to another site without my express permission.

If you'd like to email me, please do so at, being sure to put "Lonely" in the subject line so I'll know it isn't spam.  Thanks!  --Tim