Date: Fri, 19 Mar 2004 22:08:47 -0700
From: Drew Filchak <dfilchak@qwest.net>
Subject: Reservations (Beginnings)

RESERVATIONS

By Drew Filchak


     I took my regular seat at the bar as Hank nodded his head once
in greeting and set a basket of coffee cups on the service ledge.  I
studied him for a moment and a slow grin spread across my face.
     "Moving a little slowly this morning, Hank?"
     A throaty groan rumbled from his mouth in response.  He grabbed
the coffee pot and a mug and turned towards me.  "Don't start, man."
He said as his hand reached to rub the bloodshot, irritated eyes.  I
smirked as I watched Hank set the pot and cup on the bar next to me.
"Help yourself this morning.  I'm way behind schedule."
     I chuckled and filled the mug with the steaming liquid.  "It
must have been some Sunday night, Man.  I haven't seen you in this
bad of shape on a Monday since you returned from your trip to Vegas."
     "Don't remind me, Blair.  God my head hurts."  Hank moaned as he
stood up, pulling three containers of juice from the cooler beneath
the service bar.  He placed them in the tub of ice cubes then grabbed
a handful of previously rolled silverware in napkins.  He deftly
tossed a set to me then began placing the remaining sets in front of
the barstools, which lined the three-sided bar.  "If the aspirin and
ibuprofen would just kick in, I think I'll survive.  Damn that
woman!"
     My smirk widened.  "So you're gonna blame it all on your lady,
eh?"
     Hank finished with placing the silverware and grabbed the basket
of coffee cups and saucers, placing one above each roll of utensils.
He finished quickly and returned the basket to the lower counter,
then turned to look at the settings on the bar.  "Fuck!  I forgot the
place mats.  Man, today is not starting off very well."  He grabbed a
stack of placemats and began to work them under the silverware and
saucers.
     "So?"  I asked.
     "So what," Hank responded over his shoulder.
     "You're going to blame Natasha for your rough morning?"
     "It's Natalie, jerk wad, and yes ... I am.  She's the one that
insisted we go out dancing to celebrate our anniversary.  I was happy
on the couch chillin' with the Av's game.  It was three goals to zip
and just starting the third period.  Wantuk had just completed his
third hat-trick of the season and Montreal was looking like they were
from the junior hockey league.  Then Natalie waltzes into my
apartment, dressed to kill, turns off the game and says she wants to
go dancing to celebrate our anniversary.  I about killed her."
     I couldn't help but laugh.  "What anniversary?  You just met."
     Hank stopped halfway in his placemat arrangement and hung his
head, slowly shaking it from side to side.  "Our three month
anniversary.  Shit.  Only chicks can think of that kind of stuff."
     "Not just chicks, man," I chortled.
     Hank looked at me and smiled wryly.  "Oh, yeah, I forgot.  You
... what do you call yourself?  Friends of Dorothy?"  He chuckled.
"You 'Friends of Dorothy' think of that stuff too.  How could I
forget?"  He shook his head in amusement and started again to arrange
the placemats.
     A surprised laugh rolled from my mouth.  "Way to go!  You
remembered this time.  The aspirin must be kicking in!"
     "Yeah or you're rubbing off on me after all these months.  Don't
you have a job to go to or something?"  Hank finished placing the
last mat and turned towards me, his fists placed firmly on his
slender hips.
     I returned his fake scowl with a plaintive look.  "Please sir,
may I have some food first.  I'm really hungry.  I got money, really
sir, I do."
     Hank tried to hide his smile, but I guess the feigned look of
hunger on my face was better than I thought.  He laughed and threw
the towel draped over his shoulder at me.  "You're certifiable, you
know that?"
     "I try."
     Hank shook his head and smiled as he placed his hands on the bar
in front of me.  "If I had to work this morning after that stupid
night in the clubs, then I guess I'm glad you are my first customer.
Some of the others would have just demanded their food whether I was
ready for them or not.  Thanks, Blair."
     "Aw, shucks, Hank.  Give me a smooch and I'll consider us even."
     Hank's laughter brayed from his lips.  He turned from the bar
and walked to the computer.  "Where do you come up with that shit?
Is it like written in some book or something?  Man, you crack me up
at times."  His chuckles slowed as he logged into to the service
program.  "You want your usual?"
     "No," I started playfully.  "I think this morning I'll have the
bartender."
     He chuckled again.  "Sorry, buddy.  The bartender is not on the
menu."
     "Okay, then.  Yeah, I'll have the ..."
     My eyes caught movement on the far side of the restaurant and as
I looked up, I saw a tall, very-well dressed, lanky man standing
inside the door that led from the building's interior.  He was
immaculately dressed in a midnight blue suit, white shirt, and
colorful, but reserved tie.  Rich, dark brown hair covered his head
with just a slight bang hanging down to soften his otherwise austere
look.  He had a firm chin and sharp jaw.  He exuded power and
confidence to the point that I was certain if the room were full of
people, most, if not all, eyes would be turned towards him.
     I watched as he looked at the empty tables, scanning for
something.  Then he glanced at his watch and proceeded to make his
way across the restaurant towards the bar.  A newspaper lay tucked
beneath his arm.
     "Blair?"  Hank asked.
     I pulled my eyes from the guy.  "Skip the usual, Hank.  I'll
have him for breakfast.  God!"
     Hank glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened briefly.
"Forget about him, Blair.  He's way out of your league and I'm 110%
sure he's not interested.  I'll get you your usual order, okay?"
     I sighed as I saw the man approach and take the last seat
against the wall pillar opposite of where I sat on the far side of
the three-sided bar.  "Yeah, whatever, Hank."
     Hank nodded and keyed in the order, then grabbed the pot of
coffee that sat still next to me and hurried over to the new
customer.
     "Good morning, Sir.  Coffee?"
     The guy nodded and I watched as he said something low to Hank.
"Right away, sir."  Hank replied, then turned to the computer and
punched in an order.  He then filled a glass with tomato juice and
poured a double-shot of premium vodka from the cooler into a separate
highball glass, placing both of them in front of the man.  Once
finished, Hank left the bar and headed into the kitchen.
     I was transfixed.  His classically, stunning good looks and
overall appearance combined with what I saw as a reserved demeanor to
stoke my libido to furnace level within mere moments.  I actually
lurched in my pants as I stared as his overall combined package.  I
am not one that is easily impressed with a 'package'.  There is
always another pretty face or more fantastic body than the last one.
I actually go in for regular looking guys normally.  I don't fall
much for appearances, but this man simply had it all.  I had the
crazy, overwhelming desire to munch on his earlobes and then nibble
my way down his jaw to his lips.  This vision of my ideal breakfast
meal was playing continuously in my mind.  Never before in my 42
years had I been affected like this.  I was simply mesmerized.
     And I watched him subtly, trying not to stare.  He looked as
though he were contemplating something ominous, then, to my surprise,
he reached for the vodka and downed it in one shot.
     'Whoa!'  I thought.  Drinking that hard first thing in the
morning amazed me and stirred up a surprising feeling of pity.  What
ever it was that the guy was dealing with had to be intense.
     I watched as he shuddered briefly and closed his eyes, appearing
to try and shut out what ever it was that he was feeling.  Normally,
I'm not one to stare so openly at a person, but my eyes kept focusing
on him.  Then, as my thoughts continued to wonder about him, I
realized that he'd opened his eyes and was staring at me, scowling.
I dropped my eyes to my coffee cup.  Feeling a bit rude, I cautiously
flicked my eyes to look towards him again, hoping to get the chance
to send a smile in his direction, but he'd opened the paper and
appeared indifferent towards any further contact - with anyone it
seemed.
     Two guys and a woman, dressed in business attire, entered the
restaurant from the street entrance and settled at the bar.  I
noticed that my well-dressed stranger refused to acknowledge their
presence, choosing to read his Wall Street Journal and sip his
coffee.  'That's the way it goes sometimes,' I mused.  But my libido
did not seem to get the same message that my mind received.  The man
was handsome in anyone's estimation, but the draw for me was in his
demeanor.  So reserved, so controlled.  He sat upright on the stool
in a pose that was just shy of being rigid.  It was full of pretense
and self-importance and I found myself quietly squirming inside with
excitement.
     Who was he?  Where did he come from?  The fact that he'd entered
the restaurant from the interior building entrance instead of from
the street filled me with more questions.  Again, the question of why
he was drinking so early on a Monday pestered my thought.  There was
a wedding band on his ring finger.  Could his wife have left him?  Or
... had an affair?  That would take an extremely dumb woman to make a
mistake like that.  Maybe Hank would share what he knew.  I didn't
really hold out much hope for that, though.  Hank was close-mouthed
about the customers.  But I was going to try.
     Hank returned to the bar with my food and as he placed it before
me, I took my chance.
     "Hey, Hank?  What do you know about the stud in the suit over
there?  He's so intense and I can't keep my eyes off of him?"
     Hank leaned towards me, hands placed on the bar's edge and
focused his eyes on me in a serious stare.  "You need to just forget
about that guy," he whispered forcefully.  "I told you, he's major
league, All-Star level.  Take my advice on this, Blair.  Forget about
him."
     Surprised, I raised my eyebrows at Hank's forcefulness.  "But
..."
     "Eat your breakfast, Buddy."  Then he turned towards the new
customers and wished them a good morning.
     That was all I got out of him on the topic.  I ate while taking
numerous quick glances at the guy.  He caught me looking one other
time and again scowled.
     I finished and left.  It was still Monday and I had a number of
back-to-back meetings scheduled.  I just hoped that I could focus on
the business and put my All-Star stud out of my head.  I chuckled to
myself as I crossed the street toward the entrance to my office
building.  Hank definitely has a way of putting things straight to
the point.


     I did succeed in forgetting about the guy until the following
morning as I walked up to the restaurant's entrance.  It was at my
usual time of seven o'clock sharp.  If I was anything, I was
punctual.  Also, fairly regimented in my schedule.  I'd leave my
house at 6:40, drive the thirty some blocks to downtown, park in my
reserved spot and head to the restaurant for breakfast with Hank.
He'd even commented on my predictable schedule as well as my seeming
inability to feed myself.  I was a great cook, but not for myself.
Friends raved about my dinner parties and cooed over my food.  I just
didn't cook much when it was just me.  Besides, my schedule was my
schedule.  I liked it that way.  I always knew when I'd be at the
office in the morning.  The calls usually start within minutes of my
arrival, primarily from the home office on the east coast.  Since
Denver was two hours later, the big bosses were already well into
their morning by the time our office opened.
     My thoughts were drifting back to the previous morning as Hank
greeted me from behind the bar.  I looked around and saw that, as
usual, the place was empty and I was the first.  I was vaguely
surprised that I felt somehow let down that my stud in the suit
wasn't sitting in his spot across from me.  Hank caught my smile.
     "What's that smile for?  It almost looks like you're chiding
yourself over something?"
     He poured my coffee, then rested the pot on the bar, waiting for
my response.
     "Aw, Hank.  You know me too well."  I grinned.  "I had the
weirdest feeling of 'let-down' when I walked in and that guy from
yesterday wasn't sitting where I remembered him."  I chuckled at
myself as I sipped from the coffee cup, replacing it on its saucer.
"I had forgotten about him," I began, giving Hank a wink and a nod.
"Just like you told me too.  But then I walked in here and what can I
say ... some guys just stick in my brain."
     The slow shake of his head told me that another lecture was
coming.  But I was pleasantly surprised.  He laughed, instead of
lecturing me, then returned the pot to the warmer.  "You're good-
lookin', for a guy that is.  I'm sure you're beating off the guys
with baseball bats."
     I grinned.  "Well, I'd rather just use my hand, if you get my
drift."
     Hank paused, then exploded with laughter.  "Man, you got me
again.  Sick.  You know that don't you?"  He moved to the order
terminal, his laughter continuing.  "I better get you some food.
Maybe it will help that warped mind of yours.  You want your usual or
are you sick of it?  The chef is making blintzes this morning.
They're pretty good."
     "No, just the usual."
     I finished my coffee as I waited for my order and continued to
banter with Hank.  During a lull in our conversation, my mind
wandered to one of my scheduled meeting and as I reviewed my notes on
my Palm, a movement across from me caught my attention.  I looked up
to see my All-Star taking his seat.  I froze in mid-stare.
     There he was again, my perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed,
perfectly handsome fantasy, looking every bit as good as I
remembered.  He glanced once in my direction, saw my open-mouthed
stare then opened his paper while his lips twisted in a disgusted
grimace.  I blinked and broke through my stasis.  Hank approached him
and again wished him good morning followed by a 'Sir'.  Then he
filled his cup with coffee and poured the tomato juice and vodka.
Again, the guy stared at the glass in front of him before he downed
it, closed his eyes and flinched.  This was a scene I would be
witness to for the rest of the week.
     Each morning he would arrive at 7:15, Hank would greet him, he'd
drink the vodka, then work on his coffee and juice.  Each morning he
would at one time or another catch me staring at him, grimace or
scowl, then ignore me totally along with the rest of the customers.
Instead of being offended, I was nonplussed.  Actually, I was
fascinated and my curiosity continued to grow exponentially with each
repeat occurrence.  By Friday, my curiosity and desire for first
contact got the best of me.


     My face still burned with embarrassment as I watched the
elevator doors open to the 32nd floor of my building.  I moved
through the main doors of our offices and headed straight to my own
corner.  I normally greeted the city and mountain views from my
window with a customary 'Hello, Gorgeous', but this morning I sank
immediately into my chair.  My assistant found me staring blankly at
the wall a few minutes later.  I assured him that everything was fine
and while I never asked him to bring me coffee, I did this morning.
Anything to get him out of my office and leave me to my thoughts.  I
also asked him to hold all calls until I told him differently.
     In fast-replay mode, I saw my All-Star's rich, brown eyes
glaring dispassionately at me.  His words, cold and precise,
reverberated in my head.
     'You make me sick!'
     My face flushed with renewed embarrassment.  I simply could not
remember the last time I felt this way.  I closed my eyes and
replayed the scene.

     I wanted to make some kind of contact with the guy that was
quickly becoming more than a curiosity to me, so I finished the last
of my coffee, dropped some money next to my plate and proceeded to
make my way around the bar towards him.  As I approached, my
confidence surged.  I'd never previously been self-conscious, at
least not enough to deter me from a desired prize.  And seeing him
draw closer as I approached, I realized that he was the prize of all
prizes.  El Dorado and the Crown Jewels all rolled up into one
astounding and titillating package.
     "My name's Blair," I started as I extended my hand towards him.
He turned from his paper and glared at me.  I wasn't daunted by the
glare.  "Blair Michaels.  I wanted to say hello to you.  I've seen
you sitting over here by yourself and thought that maybe you'd like
some company.  Someone to talk to, you know."
     He dropped his glance to my outstretched hand for a mere second,
then turned back to his paper.  His rich voice floated up to me from
the newsprint.  "Not interested."
     Again, my determination was renewed.  "Just trying to be
friendly and all."
     Then, to my surprise and enjoyment, he raised his hand with the
back-side facing me and pressed his ring finger towards me as if to
force me to see the reality the wedding band represented.
     I smirked.  At least he didn't think I was straight.  "Yeah, so?
I've seen wedding bands before.  I'm not interested in shacking up
with you ... yet."  I grinned.  The game, played well, always
heightened my desire.
     He turned to look at me, his eyes flaming in anger.  "Then what
are you interested in?"  His voice, clipped and abrupt, threatened an
explosion.  The emphasis he placed on 'interested' let me know I
needed to go in for the kill, close the deal.  There was interest
here.  I could sense it.  It may be hidden behind his ring, but it
was still there.  My intuition never let me down.
     I couldn't have been more wrong.
      "Well, since you've asked," I started, a twinkle sparked in my
eyes.  I leaned a little closer and dropped my voice a notch.  "I'd
like nothing more than to start on your earlobes and nibble my way
down your incredible jaw and finally capture those perfect lips of
yours in my own.  Now that would be a perfect start to my day."  Slam
dunk!  What a perfect line!
     His reaction was a little different than I expected.
     His eyes flared once, slightly widening, the intensity shooting
straight through my own cocky stare.  Then the flame died, replaced
with a dead, frigid look of unqualified contempt coming straight at
me through a narrowed gaze.  His jaw clenched rigidly and his voice
... ragged and seething, growled out words that I didn't immediately
understand.
     "You make me sick!"  Each word, accented and emphasized by his
growl, slammed into my psyche.  They pummeled into me like a storm,
snapping my tether and condemning me to the merciless fury of the
hurricane - a ship adrift and ripped apart from the seams.  How could
I have been so wrong?
     My senses reeled with the blatant disgust and revulsion that
emitted from him with those four small words.  My body recoiled as if
struck by a blow as my face instantly flamed, embarrassed beyond
anything I could remember.  My desire and swagger evaporated.  I
stuttered out a response, my eyes widened in stunned reaction.
     "I ... I'm, uh sorry.  I ... completely misread your  ... uh ...
the situation.  My apologies.  Sorry to bother you."
     I snapped my head forward in a nod.  The last sight I had of
him, just before I turned to leave, burned into my inner sight - the
cold, disgust in his eyes flared once, then, like a star that burns
its last molecule of hydrogen, flashed to nothingness.  And as he
dropped his glance, as if he had no more use for it, I saw a sheen of
tears cover his eyes.  My heart lurched as I spun from the
restaurant.

     And here, now at my desk, fully seeing my completely insensitive
actions, my heart lurched again in recognition of the glimpse I'd
seen of the man's pain.  Watching him from across the bar each of the
past five mornings, I'd misread his indifference as being sourced in
attitude and stature ... in playing hard-to-get.  I never imagined
that it was pain, an obviously deep pain, which he covered
effectively with his solitude.  My perpetually confident swagger
caused me to interject my desire for him into a fantasy based in the
lie that he had to be interested in me.  When did I become so much of
what I despise?
     "I am such an insensitive ass!"  I said to the wall.
     "Not usually, boss."
     I jumped slightly having failed to hear my assistant enter
through my open door with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.  He
placed it on my desk and then paused.  I looked at him with
resignation, then shook my head quickly, repeatedly in denial.
     "No, Tim.  I'm just as insensitive and crude as the straight men
I bash all the time.  I'm no different."
     "You're wrong.  You're not like other men.  Now, I don't know
what has happened to make you say this or to shake you up so badly
this morning, but you are far from what I would call insensitive.  I
would not have continued to work for you if you were.  I can get
'insensitive' anywhere else.  Wanna talk about what ever happened?"
     I shook my head again.  "No.  Not really, but thanks.  I need to
take a good look at myself this weekend.  I'm way too much about cock
and balls and swagger.  There's more to life ... and I hope there's
more to me than that."
     I looked at him and saw a gentle smile and a brief nod of his
head.  "Well then, New York needs you on a call in ten minutes.  I'll
put it through when it comes in."
     Alone again, I shook off my stasis and made a mental commitment
towards taking a hard look at myself this weekend.  For the first
time in a very, very long time, I had reservations about who I had
become.  I needed to be sure that what I saw when I looked at myself
was something I could continue to like.  Because, right now, I wasn't
much liking what was staring back at me.


     Monday started like every other Monday with one exception -- I
wasn't sure that I should be sitting in my usual spot at the bar.
I'd even considered asking Hank if I could get a table in the main
section of the restaurant which is usually opened only for lunches,
dinners and Sunday morning brunch.  But, finally, I decided that if
the guy did show up, and I got the chance, I would simply nod and
ignore him.
     The plan worked for the most part.  It had one exception though
- I did get the chance to nod to the guy, but then I immediately
glanced at him again briefly and I found that he continued to stare
at me.  The look on his face said that he was appraising me.  I did
not, even for one second, think that he was appraising me because he
was interested in me.  No.  I usually make it a habit not to give
into delusions.  This guy was appraising me and I recognized almost
immediately that he was reluctantly impressed that I showed up after
our fucked up interaction the prior Friday.
     I took the opportunity to nod again with just the slightest curl
of a smile; a gesture meant to acknowledge the appraisal and the
lines drawn.  He did not respond, at least I believe he didn't
respond, because I immediately returned to the report I was reading.
I made it a habit to not work while I ate, but my weekend spent in
introspection had placed me a bit behind on my reports assimilation.
     I left the restaurant earlier than normal and headed to my
office to prepare for the week.

     On Thursday, I felt the first sign that the new routine of
nodding to the guy may be something that was earning me a little
respect from him.  I discreetly watched as he entered the restaurant
and made his way to the bar.  Regardless of any decisions that I had
made about myself the previous weekend, I still found him to be
stunningly attractive.  But after he sat down in his usual place and
took his usual ritualistic shot of vodka, our eyes met.  And this
time, after I gave him the curt nod of acknowledgement, I was more
than surprised to receive a nod from him in return.  He then closed
the door that contained him from the rest of the world and began to
read his paper.
     'Well, I'll be damned!'  I thought in surprise.  I looked back
down to my plate and allowed a slight grin to cover my lips.  I
didn't stop to consider just how strange or pathetic it was to
receive satisfaction from that slight gesture.  I returned to my
normal banter with Hank and filed my little victory away.
     The next day and most of the following week were mere repeats of
Thursday -- a brief nod after his shot of vodka.  I was content.  I
continued with my surreptitious glances, my reward being frequent
snapshots of his consistent beauty and presence.  I no longer desired
more.
     On Wednesday of that week, just as I was about to pay my ticket
and head to the office, I watched him answer his cell phone.  The
call lasted mere seconds.  He launched from his chair and raced from
the restaurant through the door that led to the interior of the
building.  I was not the only person besides Hank to notice.  Other
customers did as well.  For the first time in a week and a half, my
curiosity again reared its head.  I would have to wait for more than
a month for the enigma to resolve itself.


     Ten days later, on Monday, he finally returned.

     I had not been idle during his absence.  Daily I had pestered
and cajoled and finally pleaded with Hank to tell me who the guy was
and what was going on.  His response to the second question remained
consistent - he had no idea.  His response to my first question was
initially dodged with his usual finesse and aplomb - mind my own damn
business.  But I could tell by the end of the following week that I
was making headway.  His 'stop asking me' and 'I can't tell you' were
definitely progress.  Still my efforts in the end came to naught.
Finally, Hank told me that if I asked him one more question about the
guy that he would refuse to serve me.  Practicality won out and I
took the hint.  It was impossible for me to even consider finding a
new breakfast spot.
     But now, he was back.  And, strangely enough, I admit I missed
him.  Granted, we didn't have a relationship to speak of that existed
outside of those five or six days worth of 'nods', but I had fought
for those 'nods' and looked forward to their return.
     When I first saw him standing at the entry to the restaurant, I
gasped.  Luckily, Hank was in the kitchen because hearing my gasp of
delight would have caused his understanding of my pathetic existence
to jump to an intimate level.  Somehow, I felt that Hank would have
sensed that since I first laid eyes on the guy, my guy, I hadn't had
the slightest desire for sex with other men.  Pathetic as it may
sound, I hadn't.  And trust me; I was beginning to feel the strain.
The response to his appearance in the doorway was embarrassingly
evident in my slacks.
     He stood in the doorway for what seemed like a very long time.
He repeatedly looked over the closed portion of the restaurant and
then finally began his progress to the bar.  I knew something was
different immediately and it took me only a few seconds to grasp what
it was.
     His paper was missing.  The space under his arm remained empty.
No one would have noticed this change but me, but then I obviously
had a vested interest.  That wasn't the only change, though.  And
this second change was noticed by Hank, himself.
     The sadness in his eyes, in his whole expression was palpable,
vivid -- raw.  He didn't sit at the bar and blubber into his vodka,
but in a considerably more expressive way, he radiated loss and
emptiness.  His eyes were dark and haunted and failed to meet Hank's
eyes as he ordered what I assumed to be his normal fare.
     I observed Hank take his order and then pause briefly before
giving him a curt nod.  I watched him pour the vodka and place it
before the man.  My brows rose slightly as I noticed that he failed
to pour him coffee or serve him his usual glass of juice.  It was
just vodka this morning, straight up and neat.  I felt compelled to
watch him.  My previous curiosity disappeared as an empathetic
reaction, based not only on the change of his order but also by the
significant change in his appearance, surged within me.
     The departures from his normal routine continued.  He reached
for the glass without his normal contemplation.  Then, in a surprise
move, he gazed across the bar at me, catching my own open glance.  He
nodded then downed the alcohol in one toss.  The customary shudder
that his body made which normally accompanied his shot was absent.
Rather, he placed the glass in front of him, forward on the bar as
though to indicate a refill.  My eyes widened in surprise.  He looked
at me with his soulless eyes again.  This was definitely a morning
for surprises.  The lack of any emotion in his eyes caused my own to
mist instantly with sympathetic compassion.  I looked down to my
coffee cup so he wouldn't see my response to his pain, though I was
certain he noticed.
     Hank returned with a plate of toast and placed it in front of
the man.  He noticed the empty glass and after receiving a nod from
the man, replaced it with a newly filled one.  This time, the man
paused before drinking it and I watched him give a barely perceptible
sigh.  He then again, downed it in one swallow, closing his eyes as
his body shuddered.
     My own food appeared in front of me and as I took my first bite,
I discreetly watched him eat his toast.  Once finished, he placed
some bills on the bar and, in his normal, reserved manner, exited the
restaurant.
     Hank shook his head once, informing me to keep my questions to
myself.  Luckily, two customers arrived and he was able to busy
himself with their order.


     The next day, the normal routine returned -- his standard three
drinks and his egg-white omelet appeared and were consumed.  The only
difference was his nod to me before he swallowed the vodka.  The week
passed in its same, pedantic manner and the new week began.
     My contentedness with the minimal interactions shared daily with
my breakfast companion surprised and confused me.  A minute change in
my personality, resulting from my recent weekend of introspection,
allowed me to feel satisfied with our token morning acknowledgment of
each other.
     On Wednesday of that week, as I mulled over my situation during
a run through the park, I stumbled over a curb, seriously damaging
the ligaments in my left ankle.  The pain was tremendous and I knew
instantly that this wasn't a normal twisted ankle.  As I tried to
return to my feet, pain shot up my leg causing me to fall again to
the ground.  Luckily, a fellow jogger helped me to a bench then ran
to a parked police cruiser who came to my rescue.
     I missed work on Thursday and it was on crutches that I made my
way from my parking garage downtown to the restaurant Friday morning.
I was later than usual, by fifteen minutes at least.  The three block
walk from my parking space usually took me five minutes, but this
morning between the crutches, the throbbing in my ankle and the
intense gusts of wind that swept through downtown, it took me a good
ten additional minutes to make it to the restaurant.  The door
leading into the restaurant from the street stood on the flattened
corner of the building facing the intersection of 18th and Stout.  I
fumbled with the crutches as I maneuvered the door open and half
hopped into the entryway of the restaurant.  Just as I cleared the
threshold, another strong gust of wind caught the door and slammed it
into my left leg, which trailed bent behind me.  The force of the
blow caused me to lurch into the restaurant in a tumbled free-fall,
crutches flying.
     In mid-flight and as a shout of pain and surprise burst from my
mouth, I saw my well-dressed man approaching the bar from the
restaurant section.  I crashed onto the floor, pain again exploding
in my ankle and reflecting against my closed eyelids in searing white
streaks.  I heard the sound of footsteps caused by hardened leather
soles on tile approach.
     "Christ!  Are you okay?"  The deep timbre of a rich, concerned
voice penetrated my pain- flooded mind.  "Don't move for a second."
     I felt hands press onto my raised shoulder, stabilizing me as I
lay on the floor.  I opened my eyes and stared at the crouched legs
of my rescuer.  I immediately recognized my breakfast companion by
the sound of his voice and after clenching my eyes tightly as another
surge of pain throbbed in my ankle, turned my head to look into his
worried face.  Indiscriminate anger flared irrationally to the
forefront of my consciousness as the impotence of my situation sunk
in.
     "Yes, I'll be fine," I growled between clenched teeth.  "The
fucking owner of this goddamned building should put a damned tension
closure on that door.  Fuck!"
     The man flinched at my words, apparently shocked by their
intensity.  So what?  I was pissed off and embarrassed - a lethal
combination where my vocabulary was concerned.
     I heard Hank shout my name as he made his way towards me.
"Blair?  Damn, man.  That was some entrance.  I saw you in mid-flight
as I came from the kitchen.  Are you all right?"
     He lowered himself to his knees next to me as I tried to press
myself into a sitting position.  The man's hand continued to press
against my shoulder.  "Let me sit up, will ya?"  I asked, some of the
anger in my voice diminishing.  I felt his hands pull from my
shoulder.  "Yeah, Hank.  I'm fine.  Just a bruised ego.  Help me up,
would ya?"
     Hank lifted me up to a tentative balance position on my right
foot.  My breakfast companion gathered my crutches and offered them
to me, wordlessly.  I quickly glanced at his eyes and gave a brief
smile.  "Thanks."
     Hank placed his hand on my shoulder.  "What are you doing on
crutches?  What happened?"
     I smirked and let out a quick sigh.  "My mind wasn't where it
needed to be," I began, my eyes flashing quickly to meet the dark
brown orbs of the tall man that stood before me, then glanced at
Hank.  "I accidentally stepped off a curb as I was running in the
park Wednesday night after work.  Total grace in action."
     Hank chuckled and patted my back in commiseration then turned
towards the bar.  "Well, come and sit your butt down in your chair.
Take a load off."  I couldn't stop myself from looking once again at
the tall man who remained standing mutely before me.  His appraising
look changed slightly as his brow raised in sudden comprehension.  I
flashed a brief half-smile then turned from him towards the bar
before my look could reveal anything else to him.
     Once seated in my normal spot on my side of the bar, my leg
propped on the barstool in the corner, I groaned as the adrenaline
that surged during my incident ebbed.  Hank poured me some coffee
then added a shot of Grand Marnier before I could stop him.
     I grinned.  "Hell, Hank, I have a video conference in an hour
with the big boys from New York.  I can't go in smashed."
     "You'll be fine.  You're a big boy.  Now shut up and drink your
coffee."
     I smirked my thanks to him and sipped from my cup.  A few early
morning customers arrived as I drank my coffee.  My sense of being
watched became unbearable and I finally flicked my glance towards my
silent companion across the bar from me.  He watched me intently as
he spoke quietly into his cell phone, never failing to drop his
glance.  I returned the stare until Hank brought the coffee pot to
top-off my cup.  When I looked towards the man again, he was gone.
My eyes quickly found his retreating form as it approached the
interior building exit.  I noticed his three drinks were untouched.


     The following week could have qualified for the record books if
they had a category for busiest, most insane weeks.  I even missed
breakfast twice that week because I was in the office by five in the
morning.  Luckily, I had graduated to a cane on Wednesday so my
mobility was finally unhindered by the damnable crutches.  I worked
late each night.  On both Wednesday and Thursday evenings, as I
passed the relatively busy restaurant, I saw my 'guy', sitting alone
in the corner circular booth.  My heart literally broke, out of
sympathy and compassion, as I observed the desolate and lonely
expression on his face.  I stood for a moment each night and watched
him as he stared blankly into either his untouched plate of food or
his partially consumed glass of wine.  The two mornings that I'd made
it to the restaurant, Monday and Wednesday, I'd noticed with a
surprised lightening of my heart that his standard morning vodka was
missing from his line up of beverages.  It had given me a faint
flicker of hope that whatever had happened to him to produce his
palpable pain was somehow fading slightly into the background.  His
nods continued each morning, but the fixed stare from the previous
Friday was never repeated.
     I had been surprised the previous Monday morning that a new door
closure had been installed.  Hank grinned at me when I mentioned it.
     "It was installed by ten o'clock Friday morning."
     My surprise caused his grin to widen further.  "Damn.  You must
have some powerful connections, Bud," I said.
     He shook his head.  "Nope.  Not me.  The owner took your little
tirade, after you fell, to heart.  Let's just leave it to that."
     My confusion brought a quiet chuckle from Hank.  He quickly
raised his eyebrows once then turned to serve a customer.  Suddenly,
the light in my head flickered on.  My 'guy' was the building owner?
"No way!" I stated aloud to myself.  I saw Hank shoot me a quick grin
over his shoulder before he resumed taking the customer's order.
     I quickly glanced across the bar to where my 'guy' sat and when
he met my eyes with his own, I nodded towards the doorway then slowly
tipped my head in thanks.  For the briefest moment, I saw a little
smile flicker across his lips as he nodded back to me.  Then, as
usual, his 'door' slammed shut and he returned to his paper.
     Now, as I stood gazing at him through the window Thursday night,
reflecting on the past month's happenings, I knew that the time for
another, different kind of approach was called for.
     My chance came the following evening.

     I again worked until six-thirty on the final packaging of our
acquisition proposal and was greatly relieved that it was finally
finished.  I looked forward to a weekend spent relaxing with a book
I'd started reading a few months ago.
     But my plans changed the moment I spied my breakfast companion
again sitting by himself at his table in the corner.  Tonight, there
was no food in front of him, just a full glass of red wine with a
bucket containing the bottle standing next to the table.  The same
lost and lonely look, which I'd seen the past two evenings, suffused
his mien, dimming his natural brilliance yet again.  His eyes stared
at nothing with the same blank, hollow look that I'd noticed
previously this morning.  His burden, so obviously weighing on his
soul, appeared to have made considerable progress in its attempt to
crush him.  I couldn't take it anymore.
     I entered the restaurant and slowly made my way towards his
table, leaning heavily on my cane due to the fatigue and low throb of
pain in my ankle.  I stopped at his table and noticed when he failed
to look up to see who was standing in front of him, that his eyes
were moist and threatening to spill over.  His consciousness lay
buried deeply in a place I couldn't fathom.
     I began, softly.
     "Is there anything that I could possibly do to help your pain go
away?"
     His eyes reflexively rose to meet my own and it took a moment
for him to focus on me.  Then, recognition crossed his face.  He
pulled his head back slightly and blinked a few times to clear the
threatened tears.  "What?"
     I gave him a warm, soft half-smile, and repeated myself.  He
stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, then his gaze began to
harden like I'd seen that one, fateful day over a month previous when
I'd been the recipient of his disgust.  I quickly continued.
     "Please.  It's not like before.  I'm not like before!"  My look
of alarm softened as I emphasized my words.  "I simply want to help
you somehow channel the horrible pain that is so evident to me away
from you, if only for a moment."
     The hardness of his look held for a moment, then disappeared,
replaced by a softened, resigned look that came close to bringing
tears to my own eyes.  "Why?"  He asked, his rich voice threatening
to break under the emotion he wrapped himself in.
     "Because you clearly need someone to talk to, but let's just be
safe in saying its repayment for the door closure."  I pursed my lips
in a slight, tentative smile.
     He again studied my face, briefly blinked and a slight smile of
his own raised the corner of his mouth.  He went to say something,
but hesitated before speaking.  He nodded to the space next to him on
the end of the booth.  "Would you like to join me?  The wine is from
Bordeaux."  He dropped his eyes as he flicked his finger towards the
opened bottle.  I paused momentarily, then moved towards the seat.
     "Yes, thanks."  My smile was broader now.
     He moved slightly from his seat allowing for maybe two feet of
separation between us.  He signaled for the waiter to bring an
additional glass and we sat in silence until the wine was served.  I
breathed in the bouquet and moaned at the rich, weighty essence that
enveloped my senses.  The wine caressed my palate and bathed my mouth
in a burst of flavor and subtle, lasting finish.  My eyes closed as I
relished the quality of the wine and as I opened them, I found that
he was watching my experience with a slightly amused expression on
his face.
     I blushed, suddenly feeling very exposed before him.  He noticed
my discomfiture.  "Don't be embarrassed.  It has the same effect on
me.  When we bought it, I knew of its potential.  I'm glad to see
that you appreciate it."
     His demeanor suddenly darkened again.  Some memory associated
with the wine and brought to the surface of his consciousness by
speaking of it, caused a surge of the despair that I'd witnessed
countless times over the past month.  My emotions again rushed
forward upon seeing his refreshed pain.
     "It's exquisite and thank you for sharing it.  I didn't mean
though to cause you additional pain with my response to it."
     He looked at me sharply.  His eyes penetrated my gaze,
searching.  I was momentarily thrown by the fierce nature of his
glance, but remained silent.  Finally, he pulled his gaze from my
face and looked into his glass.  "I apologize for my reaction.
That's the second time that you've shocked me by breaking through my
defenses.  All though, I'll admit that this time didn't faze me
nearly as much as the first time."
     "And ... uh, when was the first time?"  I wasn't sure what he
was talking about.
     He looked at me again then took a sip from his glass.  "A month
ago."
     My face flushed as the memory of my actions and their
consequences flashed before me.  "Please accept my apologies for my
phenomenally stupid and insensitive actions.  I'm sincere when I say
that I wish there was some way to erase that whole thing from both
your memory and my own.  I'm sorry and ..." He held his hand up to
stop me from going further.
     "It wasn't my intent to belittle or berate you.  I simply was
commenting on how you got through to my core with your comments that
day.  No one has ever come on to me that strongly in the past twelve
years since my wife died.  I wasn't prepared for it, nor am I
accustomed to someone completely ignoring my barriers the way you
did.  In my position, that ... that just doesn't happen.  Not by
women and ..." he paused to look me squarely in the eye, "and never
by other men."
     I nodded my understanding and went to ask him the question that
his words had caused, then stopped myself.  It was too personal.  He
saw my hesitance.  "What were you going to say?"
     I swallowed and took a deep breath.  "Forgive me if I'm being
too personal, but I guess I assumed that the cause of your grief had
something to do with your wife.  I wondered if maybe she had died or
something.  But you said it was twelve years ago and ..." I stumbled
to a stop, watching his eyes to gauge if I'd offended him.
     He nodded as gave me a crooked smile that contained unlimited
bitterness and loss.  "My wife died a little over twelve years ago,
three months after the birth of our daughter.  We bought a number of
cases of this wine to celebrate her birth.  My daughter ... she ...
died from leukemia three weeks ago."
     I sat stunned, simply looking at him.  His face registered no
emotion, but the small amount of light in his eyes that I'd noticed
earlier, appeared to now flicker, threatening extinction.  My own
eyes filled with tears as I finally glimpsed the source of his pain.
I sat silently, finally dropping my gaze in an attempt to give him a
little privacy in his grief.  The horror with which I now looked at
the incident from a month ago, exploded within me.  No wonder he
looked at me with such revulsion, such spite.
     Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming need to remove myself from his
presence.  I was embarrassed beyond measure.  "Please, um ...."  I
started.  'Fuck!  I didn't even know his name!'  "Please accept my
condolences.  I am so sorry for your loss.  And when I think of my
actions from a month ago and recognize what you were going through,
I'm stunned that you even asked me to sit here tonight.  I'll leave
now."  I went to move from my spot, but he stopped me.
     "No, please don't leave.  How could you have known anything
about what I was going through?  I've sworn all my employees to
secrecy regarding me and my personal life.  No one knew, so don't
blame yourself for unintentionally upsetting me.  This is the first
time I've spoken about my daughter Megan to anyone with the exception
of my assistant."
     "But it's not just my 'come on' to you that bothers me, guy.
It's the fact that after you pointedly showed me your wedding ring, I
ignore it and blasted you with a 'full-court-press' and lurid come on
line.  At the time, I was ashamed of myself.  Now, I'm mortified."
     "Don't be."  He interrupted.  "You made an impact on me then
that I needed in a desperate way."
     My surprise and shock stopped me in mid-breath.  He saw my
confusion and question and barreled on with his words.  "Not like
that.  It didn't make me want you physically, but your comments and
'come ons' broke through a wall that I'd erected after my wife's
death.  One that nobody has dared or had the balls to even try and
get through.  You got through to me and I had to respect you for
that."
     My mind instantly thought about the first time he returned my
nod.  Somehow, I'd been right in my guess that he was giving me a
modicum of grudging respect.  He continued softly and I found it
difficult to keep my balance as the melodious timbre of his voice
began to work on my feelings of shame.
     "I felt an urge to reach out to someone other that myself or my
daughter for the first time in years.  And the reason for that was
that I felt like I was attractive to someone.  I felt that there was
someone, and it didn't matter who that was, that found me attractive
enough to ignore my hazard signs and barrel through my barricades.
Then Megan died and I set my newfound desires to reengage with the
world aside.  They remained on the shelf until you had the nerve to
approach me again tonight.  That is why I'm not repulsed or revolted
by your presence and that is why I wish that you would stay for a
little while longer.  I suddenly find myself ravenous for a
conversation that is not about my daughter's medical treatment or my
business holdings."
     He gave me a tight, small smile that conveyed his sincerity, but
it was his eyes that convinced me to stay.  In them, I saw a
desperate desire to not be alone, at least for the present moment.  I
smiled in return.  "I'd love to stay for a bit.  Thank you.  Besides,
the wine is doing wonders for my ankle.  Much better than the
aspirin."
     An honest, near full-throttle smile crossed his face and I felt
my heart thump fiercely in my chest.  Beyond all of my considerable,
self-induced and experienced drama from the past month, the man
sitting next to me continued to be a stunningly handsome man.  I
deflected my gaze from him so that he wouldn't see my incessant,
surging desire.  A figure approached the table and I looked into the
face of the restaurant's chef.
     "Good evening, Mr. Summers.  Will your friend be joining you for
dinner this evening?"
     'Mr. Summers' looked at me and raised his eyebrow in question.
I froze as I realized just who I was sitting with.  My mouth dropped
in recognition and realizing the absurdity of my reaction, closed my
mouth and simply nodded.  He smirked wryly as he watched my response,
then nodded in turn to the chef.
     "Yes, Henri.  Mr. Michaels will be joining me for dinner.  As
usual, the decision as to the fare will be yours.  Thank you.  Would
you ask James to stop by our table when he has a moment?"
     Henri nodded and departed.
     "Joel Summers," he said, offering me his hand.
     I nodded with a short laugh.  "Blair Michaels."
     "Yes, I remember," he said with a grin as he took my hand,
shaking it firmly.
     "I know who you are," I started, then stopped as a flash of
realization poured over me.  "Jesus Christ," I swore under my breath.
"I hit on Joel Summers and I didn't even know it."  I closed my eyes
and slowly shook my head.  His laughter brought me back to the
present.
     "The repercussions of that moment seem to keep making themselves
felt.  At the time, I thought you knew who I was, which upset me only
marginally.  But then when you made the rather pointed comments about
the building owner's needs to attend to the door closure, I realized
that you had no idea who I was.  Not that you should, mind you, but
many times, that's all people see."  His chuckle brought a wry grin
to my lips.
     "No, I never caught on.  Hank is fiercely loyal to you and to
all of his 'customers'.  I did figure out that you owned this
building once the closure was in place so quickly, but I never
connected the dots.  I mean, what ... here I've been having breakfast
across from one of the top fifty wealthiest men in the country for
the past month?  What a crack up.  How do you keep such a low
profile?  You own two substantial business towers in Manhattan, one
each in Chicago and London and two more here.  Yet, I never see your
picture in the media.  How do you do it?"
     We both finished the wine in our glasses, then watched as James,
the waiter, refilled them and nodded at the silent instruction from
Joel to return with a second bottle.
     "That," he said, nodding towards the retreating James, "is how I
remain fairly anonymous.  My employees honor me by keeping my
identity under wraps.  I can't tolerate the spotlight."

     The first course of food arrived at the same time the second
bottle of wine did.  The meal was exquisite as well as the wine.  By
the end of the meal, we'd completed the wine and sat relaxed in
quiet.  Our conversation had been light throughout the evening, but
immensely enjoyable.  He spoke quietly of his daughter and minimally
of his business.  I too shared only snippets of my life.  Primarily
we talked of generalities, a little politics and fair amount about
Hank.  He enjoyed my anecdotes of some of the wilder customers that
sometimes wandered into the bar area during the early morning hours.
And then, finally, I realized that it was past nine o'clock and I
regretfully felt a need to depart.
     "Thanks for an enjoyable evening, a phenomenal meal and an okay
wine."  I winked at him to assure he understood my understatement.
He laughed in return.
     "No, Blair.  I am the one that should be thanking you.  I feel
as though I've awakened from a thousand year-long sleep.  Our
conversation this evening has lifted my spirits more than I can say.
I haven't eaten a full meal in months, nor enjoyed myself this much
in a very long time.  I owe that to you, so please accept my thanks."
     "Sure."  I grinned.  "Maybe now neither of us needs to eat our
breakfast alone on opposite sides of the bar stuck against our
respective pillars."
     Joel laughed and nodded his head in agreement.  I grabbed my
cane from its resting place on the top of the booth then reached over
to squeeze Joel's shoulder in farewell.  He flinched at my touch and
I instantly regretted my action.
     "I'm sorry.  That was ...."
     He interrupted me.  "No, it's not you or your touch that's
inappropriate.  It's me.  I'm not used to being touched.  I haven't
just been closed off from people mentally and emotionally for all
these years."
     "I wasn't making a 'come on', Joel.  You know that, right?"
     "Yes, please accept my apology."
     "No apology needed."  I reached for his shoulder again and gave
it a friendly squeeze.  The muscles in his shoulder felt like
granite.  The tension radiated into my fingertips.  My brow furrowed
in concern and he asked me what was wrong.
     "It's your shoulder.  It's as tight as a steel band."  I
squeezed it again lightly and he winced.  "Man, Joel, you need a
massage worse than anyone I've ever seen."
     I removed my hand and looked into his face.  Resignation poured
from his eyes and he slowly nodded.  "I know.  It's so bad that I can
only sleep for a few hours before it wakes me up."
     "Why don't you see someone about it?"
     He shrugged.  "It's all tied up in the whole 'no touching' thing
that caused me to flinch when you first squeezed my shoulder.  I
think I've gone too long now without physical contact outside of a
handshake, that the thought of a stranger giving me a massage is
almost intolerable."
     Concern filled my eyes as a thought surfaced in my mind.  I
didn't know if he'd go for it, but I figured that it couldn't hurt to
offer.  "Joel, take this for what it's worth.  My ex from a few years
back was not only a great physiologist; he was also a licensed
massage therapist.  I picked up a number of great techniques that I
think could help reduce a significant amount of tension in your back,
neck and shoulders."  I grinned then added, "I'm not just trying to
get my hands on you.  I'd like to help if I can."  My slight grin
caused him to nod once briefly.
     "Thanks for the offer, Blair.  It's just that I have ... uh ...
reservations, you could say, about the whole touching thing.  God
knows I want to do something about my shoulders and neck, but ...."
     "Hey, Joel?  It's okay.  I just thought that since we've become
somewhat friends that you might feel more comfortable with me than
with a stranger.  No problem, okay?"
     He looked at me and I saw that he was considering my words.  He
let out a long sigh then turned to me and nodded.  "You're on.  Uh
... when?"
     "No time like the present.  All I had planned for the next hour
or so was to read a little more of a book I started months ago."
     Joel smiled.  "Good, because I'm not sure I could do this if I
let myself think about it.  The wine has helped lower my inhibitions
some.  My place is upstairs.  Uh ... you will ... uh ... stay away
from my earlobes, won't you?"  His grin was slightly worried.  I
nodded and returned his grin.
     I smiled to myself and mentally shook my head.  I simply could
not believe where this night was leading.  The strange thing was that
I meant what I'd said to him.  I wasn't trying to put the make on
him.  I'd rather he was my friend instead of a conquest.

      We made our way up to his place in the penthouse a little
slower that normal.  My ankle, after having remained seated for such
a long time had swelled considerably.  The walking helped, but I
wasn't in any shape to run a race just yet.  Once inside, Joel
offered me another glass of wine or something else to drink.  I
settled on bottled water and then asked him if he had lotion and a
couple of bath towels.  Surprised, he provided them without comment
and I took them to the kitchen where I soaked them with hot water,
then placed them in the microwave for a short bit.  As he watched, I
then wrapped them in a couple of hand towels from the kitchen and
moved us into the gathering area of his living space.
     I couldn't very well have him lying on the floor due to my leg,
so I suggested he kneel down in front of his ottoman and drape
himself over it on his stomach.  He looked at me with a confused
expression, dropped to his knees and began to bend over the
footstool.  I grinned.
     "Uh, Joel?"
     He looked up at me in question.
     "You need to take your shirt off.  I don't think the lotion and
your shirt would mix very well."
     He looked at me for a minute, then chuckled at himself.  "Well,
that makes a little more sense.  I couldn't quite figure out the
whole wet towel, lotion, shirt thing."
     I laughed in spite of my self and watched as he removed his tie
and pulled his shirt from his shoulders.  I managed to contain the
gasp that wanted to escape my lips as I saw his bare chest for the
first time.  It was perfect and matched his lean, lanky appearance.
It was naturally muscled without an ounce of excess tissue.  And down
the valley between his pectoral muscles wove a patch of dark brown
chest hair that trailed the length of his abdomen, finally plunging
into the waistband of his slacks.  For a moment, I was paralyzed with
desire, but quickly shook it off so as not to give him a reason to be
uncomfortable.
     "Okay, then," I started.  "Lie over the ottoman and I'll place
my homemade hot packs onto your shoulders.  We'll let them do their
stuff for a while and I'll focus on your arms.  I think I can do that
from this chair.   For the actual massage, though I think I'm gonna
do it with you straddling the ottoman in front of me.  Does that all
sound okay to you?"
     He nodded.  His nervousness about the coming touch began to
surface.  But he stretched himself over the ottoman and I placed the
hot packs on either side of his upper back.  He moaned as the warmth
first made contact with his back.
     "Oh, God, Blair.  That alone feels incredible."
     "Good, now just relax, Joel.  I'm going to work on your upper
arm, your bicep and shoulder."
     He nodded and I began my work.  He initially flinched as my
hands made contact with the bare skin of his arm.  "Sorry, Blair."
     "No worries, just relax.  That's your job, relaxing."
     After ten minutes of work on his arm, I removed the hot packs
and had him turn so I could work on his other arm.  Finally, I had
him sit up and straddle the ottoman.  I pulled it back so that it was
in contact with the chair I sat in and straddled it myself.  In
effect, Joel sat roughly between my widespread legs.  I didn't fail
to see the irony of the situation.
     As I began my work on his upper back, I heard a slight gasp from
his mouth.  I smiled.  I knew partially what he was feeling.  The
initial touch of my own therapist caused me to groan in relief.  So,
compounding that with the fact that he hadn't been touched in god
knows how long, I couldn't imagine the feeling.  A louder groan
escaped his lips and I began a back-and-forth action with my hands.
     "Sorry, Blair."
     "Stop apologizing, Joel.  When I'm on my therapist's table, if
someone didn't know better they would mistake my moans and groans for
sex.  Let it out.  Don't hold it in.  And simply enjoy it.  The hot
packs worked wonders to begin the process of getting your muscles to
relax."
     "God, your hands feel so good."  He mumbled as his head began to
relax down onto his chest.
     I worked each side of his back, tracing the muscles with my
thumbs and fingers.  Initially, his entire back felt like one mass of
knots, but they gradually began to loosen.  From my position, I could
do a number of good, soothing moves, but I needed to be able to exert
additional amounts of pressure.
     "Joel?  I need to get some additional leverage and I think I can
if I put my one arm around your chest and work into it, that way I
can get the support I need.  Is that okay?"
     "Yeah.  What you're doing now is too good to stop."
     "Good," I replied as I slipped my left arm around his chest.  I
chuckled lowly in his ear.  "I promise to try and resist your
earlobe."  I felt his chest contract in silent laughter and I smiled.
     I returned to my work with the added leverage in place, but I
paused when I realized that I was suddenly, painfully erect.  'Oh,
shit!'  I screamed to myself.  'He'd flip out for certain if he knew
that I was hard.'  I discreetly moved my hips back from any possible
contact with his waist and resumed my manipulations.  His groans
increased in volume and duration, causing my erection to lurch with
each additional moan.
     "My god, Blair.  I had no idea that this could be so good."  His
groan was throaty and bordered on a growl.  "But you have to be
getting exhausted.  You've been at my back for half an hour or more."
     I sighed.  "Yeah, I don't know how people do this for hours on
end.  Just a little more work on your traps and I'll move to your
neck.  My back is getting a little tight in this position."
     I finished quickly.  "Now, let me finish with your neck.  I'll
need you to scoot back a little bit and sit up some."  He scooted
back further onto the seat of my chair than I planned.  His slender
hips and upper buttocks pressed against my groin and my erection
lurched against him.
     I gulped.  "Uh, sorry about that, man."
     He chuckled softly through a moan as my thumbs began their work
on his neck and cranium stem.  "Don't worry about it.  I'm hard
myself.  It freaks me out a little, but what you're doing feels too
good to interrupt.  Awww ..." his groan at my thumb work caused my
dick to surge against him.
     'Fuck,' I said to myself.  'Did he just say he was hard also?'
The thought spurred me on further as my thumbs dug out the traces of
stress that tried to remain hidden in the crannies of his neck.
Finally, my thumbs gave out, as well as my hands.  I gently caressed
his neck and shoulders with my fingertips and felt his sigh, more
than heard it.
     I spoke softly.  "You seem to have worked through your aversion
towards being touched."
     His sigh released slowly, deeply.  "So it would seem."
     "How do you feel now, Joel?"  I whispered in his ear.  My desire
was close to bursting and I was certain my voice conveyed every
single bit of lust and yearning I'd harbored for the past six weeks.
     "Like I've died and am lying in the arms of an angel."
     His words rocked me to my core and before I could stop myself, I
gently, sensually kissed the back of his neck.  His body shivered.
"Is that okay, Joel?"  I whispered, placing another kiss in the same
spot.
     A sigh escaped his lips and a slow nod of his head signaled his
acceptance.  I placed a series of light kisses onto different parts
of his neck and shoulder.  He began to moan.  I gently reached my arm
around him and pulled him slightly back onto my chest.  He allowed
the move and moaned when he rested against me.  "You were thinking
about me when you hurt your ankle, weren't you?"
     "Yes.  I've thought of you every day since I first saw you.
Now, relax, my friend."  I whispered into his ear as my hand on his
chest began a feather-light dance across his muscles.
     "Oh, Blair ... " he panted almost inaudibly.  "No one's touched
me like that in so many fucking years.  Please don't stop."
     "Enjoy it, babe," I whispered.  "This is all for you."
     His body shuddered at the word `babe'.  Then a groan began to
emit from his lips as I gently licked his earlobe, teasing it with my
soft nips and tongue.  My hand on his chest, joined by its match,
caused him to stretch his torso in raw, yearning desire.  He pressed
firmly back into my engorged erection and grasped my knees on either
side of his hips with his hands.  My assault on his ear intensified
as he turned his head towards my seeking tongue.  He let out a yell
as I fully buried my tongue in his ear and sucked his lobe into my
warm, wet mouth.
     "Oh, God!  Don't stop!"
     His words served only to spur me on further.  My hand on his
chest began to move lower to his waistband while the other
manipulated his nipple repeatedly.  Finally, all restraint was gone
and I placed my hand on his pulsing, twisting groin.  He hissed
breath through his teeth and his body shuddered from head to toe.
     "Is this all right, Joel?"  I grabbed his erection with my hand
and squeeze it massive girth.  "Is this okay?"
     "Yes, yes, Blair," he groaned through his clenched jaws.
     "You don't have any reservations about my continuing?"
     His moan was long and throaty.  His hips bucked up into my hand
and in turn pressed back against my own erection.  The sensation
overwhelmed me.  "Any reservations at all?"
     "NOOO!"  He wailed, caught up in the ecstasy of the feelings he
was experiencing.
     My hand quickly unbuckled his belt and slacks while my tongue
and other hand increased their efforts.  I dove into his opened
slacks, burying my hand under the waistband of his boxers and
encountering his extremely long, thick organ.  He shouted at my touch
and bucked his hips against my engorged member.  My tongue left his
ear and began its blissful descent down his jaw line.  He whimpered
at the new sensation and pressed his swollen member into my grasping
fist repeatedly.  I bucked my groin against him in counter-rhythm to
his uncontrolled motion.
     His groan filled my mouth as my free hand quickly turned his
face upwards towards mine and my tongue launched itself into his
mouth.  His breathing increased rapidly and his nostrils flared with
each staggered breath.  His tongue battled with mine in a primal,
lust-filled spasm.
     His body contracted violently and his scream reverberated
through my own head.  My hand suddenly filled with his moist,
shooting warmth as it spewed outward onto his lower abdomen.  I
continued to pumped his spewing organ and his contractions increased
stimulating my own orgasm.  I growled into our kiss as my shorts
filled with my slick essence.  He groaned in recognition of my shared
orgasm.  The intensity of our kiss slowed; panting breaths subsided.
     I reluctantly released his chin from my grasp and removed my
tongue from his mouth.  He immediately brought his lips to mine in
sweet, soft reunion.
     "Are you okay, Babe? Joel?"  I whispered as I stared into his
eyes.  My hand caressed his cheek and stroked through his hair.
     "Yes," he whispered in reply.  Then his eyelids slid over his
brown orbs and I felt his body relax fully onto mine.  I whispered my
unexpected, but honest, feelings of love for him into his ear and
drifted into sleep.

     Sometime later, I woke as I sensed both a pain in my thighs and
a subtle movement in my arms.  Joel had slid to the side of my chest,
turning slightly in my arms so that he was facing me.  My legs
tingled with renewed blood flow.  His brown eyes glistened into mine
as he stared into my eyes.  I saw the confusion in his gaze and went
to speak, but he touched his fingers to my lips.
     "Wait, please," he started, then stopped as his fingertips
traced the shape of my lips, his eyes followed the movement of his
fingers.  Without looking at me, he spoke.
     "I don't know what this all means.  For the past six weeks, I've
watched you watch me and the most confusing thing of all is that I
don't know why I've watched you back.  I don't know what that means
and I don't know what this means."  His eyes locked onto mine as he
gently brush his lips to mine.  "And I'm more uncertain than I've
been in my entire 40 years."  His words faded as he continued to
stare into my eyes.
     "I can't even begin to imagine what is running around in your
mind about now."  My words, spoken softly, slipped from my lips as my
hand lightly stroked the arm that raised its finger again to my lips.
"What does this all mean?  I can't tell you that, but I can tell you
that what ever it is feels right to me, though I'm not the one that
has just had his first man-to-man experience."
     "Surprisingly, Blair, the male to male stuff isn't bothering me
as much as I imagined it would."
     "Then what is it that you're asking me?"
     "What's making me ask, 'what does this all mean', is the surge
of emotions I'm feeling right now.  As I was falling asleep, I heard
you whisper that you loved me in my ear."
     "I shouldn't have done that, Joel."  His fingers again pressed
against my lips to silence me.
     "Hold on, there.  I'm glad you did because I woke up feeling
something similar for you; I'm just not sure how I got there.  I'm
the type of person that needs to see his path, at least in my mind.
And suddenly I've found myself in a place that I've never been.  I
guess that's okay, but I'm still unsettled by it.  All the times I
glanced at you sitting across the bar, I never suspected that I
harbored any desire for you.  I thought I was just curious about how
a guy that looks like you could be gay.  But now I have to
acknowledge that there was obviously more to it.  And that makes more
sense when I look at how instantly comfortable I was with you at
dinner tonight.  That just does not happen in my life.  Trust me.
That one was sending up questioning flares big time.  I'm not upset
with the fact that I'm sitting in your lap, half-naked and covered in
cold cum.  After so many years without it, without another human's
touch, I just let go of caring about the fact that you were a man.
On one hand, it was the best sex I've ever had."  He winked and
grinned, then kissed me again gently, his eyes pouring unrefined
feelings deeply into mine.  "I'm not really upset about anything.
I'm more just surprised, I guess."
     Emotion exploded through me.  Why, or better yet, how ... how
had this man gotten to mean so much to me when no other man in years
had come even half as close?  After successfully tucking my initial
physical desires for him safely away, honestly desiring only
friendship, he stunned me with his admission of ... what, love?  And
the fact that he said it in such a comfortable, every day manner
rocked me ever further.
     My voice, suddenly uncertain yet shaking with emotion, slipped
from my lips.  "Joel ... what did you mean when you said that you
felt something similar for me?"
     The fingers that had only moments before stroked my lips now
cupped my cheek with indescribable tenderness.  "If you mean was I
saying that I love you," he shrugged slightly, "then, yes, probably I
am.  But my feelings right now are so new after not having felt
anything for over a decade that I find it difficult to define them
with words.  I just know that you have somehow transmuted my sentence
with your irrepressible presence and I am free to look at you openly
and revel in the feeling of being alive and in your arms."
     My smile refused to be contained a single moment longer.  I
grabbed his face in my hands and kissed him passionately.  He
responded ardently, feverishly.  I finally pulled back from him,
panting.  His eyes were starry and dazed; chest heaving with passion.
     "When I first saw you walk in that day, my dick lurched in my
pants and my heart lurched in my chest.  And I've come so far over
the past six weeks, setting aside my swagger and trying to figure out
what caused you so much pain.  And to be sitting here, now, after
every thing we've quote 'been through', feeling the happiest I think
I've ever been," I paused allowing my grin to accent my words, "I
realize I only have one more desire."
     "What?"  He asked.
     I leaned close so that my whispered words brushed his lips.
"That you get off my legs before the damage to them is irreparable."
     His eyes widened quickly and he immediately stood up.  The
relief was instantaneous and I moaned as I felt the blood flow back
into the starved areas.  I grinned up to him.  "Now, I have
everything I desire!"
     He reached for my hand, laughing in childish delight, and pulled
me to my feet.  My legs held, though they were a bit wobbly, and his
arm encircled my back to steady me.
     "Better?"
     "Much."
     He looked at me uncertainly then dropped his eyes.  "Blair, uh
... even though we've known each other for some time now, we've only
really had just the past few hours together, and ... but ..." his
eyes raised to meet mine.  "Would you stay with me tonight?"
     "Oh, god yes, Joel."  My heart leapt in my chest as he drew me
tightly to him.


     The following morning we awoke in each other's arms and shared a
kiss of love, a kiss of affirmation, and a repeat of the previous
night's ecstasy.
     Finally, I looked at the clock and told him that I had to be
going soon.  His eyes widened quickly and then dropped to look at my
chest.  My normally playful nature again in the forefront.
     "I have a breakfast date with Mikey.  And he'd be pretty pissed
if I didn't show up."
     He lifted his eyes to me in surprise, followed immediately by
resignation.  The tone of his voice flattened as he spoke.  "I guess
I was pretty naive to think that you weren't seeing someone else."
He went to pull from my arms, but I held him tightly.  Grinning, I
pulled him to me for a kiss.
     "I'm not seeing anyone else, Mr. Summers."
     "You're not?" he asked, the hope in his voice rising with his
question?  "Then what's this breakfast date with Mikey about?"
     I grinned and rolled my eyes playfully.  "Mikey's my cat and
he's gonna be really pissed if he doesn't get his cat chow soon."
     His grin brightened the room.  "So that means I can join you for
breakfast, yes?"
     "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The End.


(I would love to hear your comments.)   dfilchak@qwest.net