Date: Tue, 13 Dec 2011 19:38:15 -0800 (PST) From: First Chance Subject: How Martin Blunt Learned to Live Chapter 11: An End and a Beginning Thanks for the emails, guys. The fact that so many of you took the time to drop me a line is really awesome. -JJ How Martin Blunt Learned to Live Chapter 11: An End and a Beginning. "Mr. Blunt? Are you OK?", asked an older gentleman, resting his hand on Martin's forearm and gently shaking him. Martin snapped out of his thoughts and quickly scanned the table. Most of the other conference attendees hadn't noticed that he had been lost in thought for what seemed like an hour but was only a few seconds. Martin was only half sitting in his chair and still holding his napkin in his left hand. Seeing Jon again brought back a wave of memories, good and bad, loving and painful, erotic and vile. He looked at the nice man to his right who had shown signs of concern and smiled. "Yes, thank you. Sorry, just... something popped into my head for a second", Martin replied with a forced smile. He sat down to finish his lunch and converse with the others around him. Several people approached him, offering business cards and asking for a chance to talk. Martin was polite and welcoming, and took every opportunity to fix his stare directly at each person making it clear to Jon, who he knew was looking, that he was not interested in seeing him again. When the emcee asked for attention and introduced the next speak, Martin discreetly excused himself from the men at his table and, half hunched over, sneaked out a side door. He had to get out of there. When he got to the end of the corridor heading towards the hotel lobby, he heard Jon shout in the loudest possible whisper "Martin! Martin!" Martin stopped, but did not turn around. He heard Jon running to catch up to him and felt his presence behind him. "Martin?" He turned around. "Jon". "Martin look I'm sorry about today. If I knew you were going to be here I wouldn't have come." There was a pause during which they just stared at each other. "Looks like you got a new job", Jon said, trying to make small talk. "I have to go Jon", Martin said starting to turn around. Jon stopped him, putting his hand on his shoulder. "No, wait. Can we talk. Please?", Jon pleaded. "About what? I've got nothing to say." "I never got the chance to explain", Jon stated. "You didn't return my calls or emails." "What was there to explain, Jon? Why you led me on and let me believe we had something when it was just a lie? It's really hard when the one you love turns out to be the one who hurts you the most. You have no where to go." "I didn't mean to hurt you." "Yeah, but when you start a relationship on lies, then that's the only possible outcome." "I didn't know you were coming out to see me that day, Martin. I wanted to explain but I just didn't know how." "You know Jon, that was a long time ago, and I've moved on. I had to, Jon, because you still had your wife and kids, but I was alone. And honestly, I just don't want to reopen those wounds. Especially not with you. I just want you to know that I could never have done to you what you did to me", Martin said coldly, walking away. Jon called out "I got divorced." Martin turned to look at him again. "I couldn't do it any more. It just wasn't right." Again they stood in a few seconds of awkward silence, but Martin came to his senses. "Good bye, Jon." He turned again and walked away, leaving Jon standing in the hall. It was not the confrontation he expected and had rehearsed in his mind. How many times did he have a perfect, cathartic, guilt filled, suicide inducing, victimized melodramatic speech that would bring Jon to tears... but in the end, Martin only needed a few words to achieve closure. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed. "Hello, Timothy. The speech went well, but I'm not feeling well and am going home. No. I'm OK. Thanks, Timothy." He finished the call getting into a taxi and he directed the driver to his house. A few hours later Martin heard the doorbell ring. He was downstairs in his basement, a large, open room that he had renovated into a den in order to keep the upstairs more formal. Half of the finished space was dominated by a sectional sofa and easy chairs facing a large flat screen television encased in a dark wooden wall unit flanked by shelves and cabinets. The other part of the room had an open space with a beautiful pool table and a large, fully stocked bar on the far wall. He had hosted many Super Bowl parties and casual weekend get-togethers down here, and despite being a basement, the space was bright and inviting. When he didn't want to think about anything, Martin would pour himself a drink and shoot pool. It was a form of mental relaxation, and after seeing Jon earlier today, Martin did not want to think. Hearing the doorbell made his heart jump. Surely Jon would not be stupid enough to come over. He headed up the stairs calling out "coming!" and began to rehearse his speech should it be Jon at the door. But it wasn't. It was Tim. "Timothy, everything OK?", Martin asked inviting Tim inside. "Fine, Mr. B. Thanks. I came to check on you. When you called to say you didn't feel well and were headed home, I just wanted to make sure you were OK." Martin paused and looked at Tim inquisitively with a slight smile. "Really? Well that's very nice you." "I stopped at Whole Foods and got you some chicken soup. I didn't know if you needed to eat. And there's some ginger ale, too", Tim said, lifting a grocery bag up so Martin could see. Martin was touched. "You didn't have to do that, but I have to tell you, it's the nicest thing anyone has done for me a long time. And after day like today, very much appreciated. Come on inside." Martin took the bag from Tim and led him through the house to the kitchen. Tim noticed it was almost sterile. Everything gleamed and there was hardly anything on the counters. He concluded that either Martin didn't cook or he had a really good cleaning woman. "Wow, my kitchen doesn't look like this", Tim said looking around. "No?", Martin said, putting the bag on the counter and taking out the contents. "No, I've got 4 housemates and they are kind of slobs. There's always stuff on the counter and dishes in the sink. Kind of drives me crazy." The soup did smell good and Martin realized suddenly he was hungry. He looked at how much Tim had purchased and felt a little bad since the prices were visible. "I'm really flattered you got all this for me. Let me pay you back", he said reaching for his wallet. "No, please, Mr. B. My treat for the sick." "Well then do you have dinner plans? You bought enough- stick around and eat with me", Martin offered. "OK, sure", Tim said smiling. Martin got plates and silverware from the drawer and had Tim get glasses and ice. They set the kitchen table and sat down next to each other for dinner. They talked comfortably and easily. Martin told him about his speech and Tim filled him in on what happened in the office. They both were thinking about how easy it was to talk to each other. Martin decided he wanted Tim to stick around a little longer. "What do you think about some dessert?", he offered. "Yeah, sure. What do you got?" "There's a cupcake place only a block away. I'll run over and get us some." Tim protested saying Martin was sick and he shouldn't leave the house. But Martin insisted and left Tim alone in his house saying "I'll be back in less than 10 minutes." When he left Tim walked around the empty first floor of the house, looking at the art and the photographs. He admired the elegant simplicity of the home, the flow of the rooms, the harmony of the colors. It was a beautiful space, immaculately clean, masculine and refined, much like Martin himself. Tim thought about how much bigger it was than his house and yet Martin lived in it all alone. He cleaned the dinner bowls and put everything in the dishwasher when he heard the front door close. He thought how he'd love to hear 'honey, I'm home'. If he lived here, Martin would never be hungry, that's for sure. "I'm back. Bought 4. Figured that way I'd be sure to get your favorite flavor. Thanks for cleaning up.", Martin said opening up the box. "No worries. Hey Mr. B. Hey do you not own a TV?", Tim asked. He regretted it once he said it. Made it sound like he was being nosy and had snooped around the house. But Martin didn't think so, not by the tone in his voice when he answered. "No, I do. It's downstairs. Let's grab some plates and I'll show you", Martin offered. When he got to bottom stair in the basement, Tim froze. "Wow", he exclaimed. "This is awesome. You have like a legit man cave. How big is that TV!" "Oh, that was a moment of weakness before the last Rose Bowl", Martin laughed. "It was a stupid purchase, one of those impulses at the store. Still, it's pretty great to watch a game." Martin put on the TV and let Tim surf the channels to see how good the quality was. Tim was a like a little kid, changing channels from sports to news shows to the Brad Pitt movie "Troy" which is always running on TBS. Tim stopped at every channel and admired something. "Look at the clarity of the picture" and "The colors are so bright". Martin watched Tim with a smile. There was something about his innocence and simplicity that Martin found... sexy? Martin started talking to himself in his head... careful buddy. Work place violation. Almost jail bate. "That's a great pool table", Tim said, walking over to it, stroking his hand along the side panel of green felt. "You play?" Martin asked. "Nah, but I used to bar back in college and sometimes when the manager was not there I would slack off and play a little bit. Never enough to get any good." "Well, you come over anytime you want and you can practice here", Martin said. He caught himself again. What the fuck are you inviting him over for? "Do you mind if I give it a try?" Tim asked eagerly. "Yeah, sure. Let's rack them up." Martin let Tim break and take two or three shots before he intervened. "OK- your angle is off. Turn your body in more. More. No other way". "Like this?" "No, you see the cue, and... let me show you". He mounted Tim from behind. Tim was smaller and thinner, and Martin's frame almost engulfed him. He wrapped his arms around Tim's shoulder, put his hands over Tim's hands, and physically moved him into the correct position. "Now line up like this. Where are you going to hit the cue? No, little higher. Yeah right there. Draw back". He heard himself whisper into Tim's ear. "Shoot". The pool stick launched forward firing the cue ball perfectly colliding with the 9 ball into the corner pocket so squarely, one would think it was sucked inside with a vacuum. "Wow", Tim said. Martin backed off realizing he was getting way to close. "That was awesome." Tim said, turning around and smiling at Martin, who hoped the expression of pleasure was from a well hit cue ball and not from the payout of the impending sexual harassment lawsuit. What was he doing getting so close to this kid? He needed to back off. And stop thinking about bending Tim over the pool table and fucking him... holy crap, I did it again.. he thought. STOP THINKING THIS! "Let's have a cupcake", Martin said, eager to move away from what had become a temptation filled pool table. They sat back on the couches and Martin pretended to watch the Nationals game on TV. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Tim peel off the paper of his cupcake, lick frosting off his hand and make a small mess. I'd peel off your wrapper and make a small mess that you'd love to lick up... holy shit... why am I so horny tonight? What is wrong with me? Jesus, you're his boss. But there was something cute about his movements. He was like a big kid, and Martin was a little surprised he found him so attractive since he had never noticed younger guys before. Well, not that young. Martin did some quick math in his head remembering Tim's resume... graduated college in... holy crap I'm almost 16 years older than him. I lost my virginity before he was born... I could be his father. Fuck, am I getting old? "I hope you are feeling better. You don't look sick at all", Tim said with a mouth full of red velvet. The sudden words startled Martin and interrupted his mathematically induced pity party. "I'm sorry?", he asked. "You left because you were sick so I expected you to have the flu or look all pale. But you look great." Tim said kicking his shoes off and putting his feet up on the coffee table. Martin was both offended and flattered. Clearly Tim grew up differently with regards to manners in a guest's home. But Tim also felt incredibly comfortable with him, and that made Martin happy. And a little excited. He noticed Tim had small feet and wore ankle socks exposing a little bit of leg. Martin saw the little hairs popping out and thought how adorable Tim looked. "So I'm glad you feel better. I was afraid it was a relapse of what you had in Paris." "Actually it was a different kind of sickness", Martin replied slyly. Tim looked at him confused. "I ran into an ex and it brought back a lot of bad memories. It was an ugly break-up and I just didn't plan on seeing anyone during my speech". "Gotcha", Tim said looking at him empathetically. "Sorry. That sucks." "Yes well it's over now and it didn't affect my speech." "But it did affect you, and that's more important than a speech." "What do you mean?" "I mean your happiness is more important than your job or your speech and, I don't know, I think you shouldn't have to gloss over it. If you need time take time." "Well this is a little untoward, Timothy", Martin said with a slightly sarcastic smile. "I can't say I speak from experience. I haven't had much luck in dating. But I remember when my dad died, you know I felt like I need to be strong for my mom and for my sisters, but since I never dealt with it, it just got worse in time. That's all I'm saying. Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like I'm telling you what to do." Martin smiled at him. "No, you are right, Timothy. And your advice is spot on. And you concern is appreciated". "I just want to make sure you are OK is all." "Thanks, Timothy. So tell me, now that we are talking honestly, how do you like work?". Timothy talked about the job and his eagerness to see some of the world which led to a conversation about travel (and Tim's lack thereof) and Tim's childhood. Martin didn't mean to pry, but he asked questions about Tim's childhood and Tim seemed almost eager to talk about it. He talked about his dad dying at a young age and growing up in a house of women. It was such an honest and pure conversation, Martin didn't realize it was almost 11pm. "Mr. B. I didn't mean to take up your whole night. Sorry I got to talking so much", Tim said realizing how late it was. Martin insisted on calling and paying for a taxi to take Tim home. They waited for it on the front porch. When it arrived, Martin thanked Tim again for the soup. Tim remarked that he'd be back to get another pool lesson, to which Martin replied "anytime". Their final handshake was awkward, like they hung on too long and made too much eye contact. Finally Tim leaned in for a hug, and Martin gave him the one armed, two pats on the back. Tim couldn't believe Martin's back- it was like hugging a tree. "Good night Mr. B. See you tomorrow." "Thank, Timothy." When Martin closed the door he sighed in relief. And knew he had to go upstairs and jerk off. He had plenty of material. When Tim got home his housemates were all asleep and the lights were off. Two people he didn't know were sleeping in the living room. He quietly tip-toed past them upstairs, brushed his teeth and went to his bedroom. He dropped his clothes on the floor and felt the cold air tickle his nipples. He took one sock and put it over his throbbing erection, and crawled into bed. He thought about Martin and how good he felt behind him. He thought about peeling back his clothes, seeing that beautiful torso again, running his fingers through his thick hair, licking the jawline from his chin to his ear. He worked the sock up and down is tender shaft, feeling the slippery material become damp with precum. He imagined Martin inside him, how strong and gentle he would be, how each thrust would be deliberate, full and complete. Martin would cum inside him, would fill him up with his seed and... Tim groaned quietly and began to ejaculate inside his sock. He was afraid to make any noise with a full house even though he knew they were probably doing the same thing. Now he understood why when his housemates did laundry they had so many single socks. Still, better they didn't hear. He jerked his remaining drops of cum thinking of Martin's smile, his bright eyes, his kindness. Tim dropped the cum filled sock on the floor and rolled on his side to fall asleep. He thought about Martin, hoping he would dream about Martin. And he was glad he would see him again tomorrow. Martin lay naked on his bed mopping up cum off his chest with a towel. No lube. No dildo. No porn. Nothing was needed tonight. He thought of the little bet of Tim's leg he saw with those hairs poking out of his socks, of his cute, small feet, of his pretty face and the simple joy he derived from eating a cupcake. He thought of that bright smile when he made a good shot at pool and how easily his body fit inside Martin's frame. And he thought of that hug he gave him at the end of the night- a night he spent making sure Martin was OK. It felt good to feel this way again about someone- even if it was never meant to be or couldn't be. At least Martin had moved on and could feel again.