Date: Thu, 2 Dec 1999 22:48:05 -0800
From: Country Guys <j_and_g@telis.org>
Subject: Mickey Mouse

Thank You, Mickey Mouse
by Greg Bowden
j_and_g@telis.org

It was crowded in the clinic waiting room and I knew it was going to be a
while before I could deliver the needle studded piece of rock that was my
kidney stone to Dr. Norris, my urologist. It didn't matter; I was so happy
to finally be rid of the damn thing though that I'd wait half the day.

I registered with the nurse at the little window and took the only seat
available-between two people who were obviously in for obesity
counseling. I tried to get my book out but it proved to be too much of a
hassle so I just let my eyes wander over the others in the room. I spotted
a couple of good looking guys but they were both too young to be of very
great interest. I much prefer men a few years past the half century
mark-men who have lived long enough to have some character in their faces
and experience under their belts.  As it were.

My eyes kept drifting back to the man sitting directly opposite me and I
began a little game of "who is he and why is he here?" Whatever had brought
him to the clinic must be serious, I thought, because he was holding his
head in the palms of his hands in a way that spoke of unhappy
resignation. He looked up when a name was called and his eyes turned out to
be gray rather than the blue I'd decided they would be. He also had a
thick, blond mustache and the most miserable expression I think I've ever
seen on a man.

The woman sitting next to him was called and I quickly moved into her
seat. When I opened my book my arm touched the man and when he didn't move
I didn't either. At first I thought there might be some sexual meaning to
the way his arm pressed against mine but then I decided he was simply
seeking some sort of human contact, something like a hug only more
acceptable between strangers. After all, with arms touching you can always
say "Oh, excuse me," and pretend it didn't happen. That's hard to do with a
hug.

I also wondered about the little plastic ring he kept toying with. It was
broken and had an odd medical look about it. It obviously hadn't come out
of a box of crackerjack and the way he sometimes looked at it made me think
is was somehow very important to him.

"Mr. Jebson?"

My man got up, threw me a sad smile and followed the nurse through the door
to the examining rooms. Not long after that I was called. It didn't take
long. Dr. Norris examined the little slasher I'd brought him and pronounced
it a perfectly normal, garden variety kidney stone and assured me that the
chances of having another one were about even with the chances of not
having another one. Thus heartened I gave him a quick kiss (we've been very
good friends for a lot of years), collected my souvenir stone and took my
leave, nearly running into Mr. Jebson in the hallway. He looked, if
anything, more miserable than he had in the waiting room and impulse took
over.

"You look like a man who needs a drink," I said to him, surprising myself.
"May I buy it for you?"

He looked startled but after a moment's hesitation he nodded. "That'd be
nice. Yes, I think a drink is just what I need right now."

We went to Zapolleti's, down the street from the clinic. Zapolleti's bar is
a favorite of mine, all dark paneling, comfortable leather chairs and
bookcases with actual books on them. They serve hefty drinks in good
glassware, mixed nuts in silver bowls and they've never heard of a
jukebox. We settled in and ordered Scotch.

"Tell me something," he said after a long but not uncomfortable
silence. "Do you make a habit of picking up men and buying them drinks?"

I laughed. "Not for a lot of years. But it seemed like you might want some
company after. well after hearing whatever they had to say back there."

It was his turn to laugh only his came out more rueful than anything
else. "What they said was that it's all in my mind. Maybe I should see a
psychiatrist, that's what they said. Shit."

We finished our drinks in silence. When the second round was served he
sighed and shook his head. "Well, that's enough of that," he said and
extended his hand. "The name's Jebson, Samuel Jebson. My friends call me
Jeb."

"Pleased to meet you," I said, shaking his hand. "My name's Walter Lindner
and my friends call me Walter."

He laughed, this time with some enjoyment to it. "Well, I tell you,
Walter. You promise not to call me Sam and I'll promise not to call you
Walt. Deal?"

"Deal."

We began to talk then, covering the sort of things strangers talk about in
bars and then easily moving on to the more personal things friends talk
about. After a third drink we moved to Zapolleti's dining room for seafood
pasta, salad and the best zabaglione this side of Rome. By the time dessert
was over Jeb had bragged about his kids, touched on the death of his wife
three years before and told a sad but funny story about transferring to the
desert to get away from the advances of his wife's friends. In turn he
heard about Jack, the man I had lived with for twenty-nine years, the ups
and downs of building a house in the desert and the complete lack of humor
shown by book editors.

After dinner we walked each other back to the clinic parking lot and
exchanged phone numbers and promises to have dinner together again soon. On
the way home I wondered a little about Jeb's reaction-actually his lack of
reaction-to the fact that I'm gay. Even though I hadn't come right out and
said it in so many words he had to have figured it out; two men don't live
together for twenty-nine years-until one of them dies-just to share
expenses. I finally decided that Jeb simply didn't care much and that made
me decide I would call him.

He beat me to it. Five days later he called and said he was really in the
mood for Mexican food and he hated eating out alone. We ended up on the
patio of La Pinata, gorging ourselves on chimichangas and green corn
tamales and debating the merits of Mexican over American beer-as compared,
of course, to German beer. We had a fine time of it.

Three days after that I had him over to my place for grilled steaks and
four days later I was at his house for coq au vin which was wonderful and
which, after dinner, he confessed he had bought at a restaurant because he
really didn't cook very well.

It wasn't long before we'd fallen into an easy routine of having dinner
together two or three times a week, sometimes out but more often at his
house or mine. After dinner we'd watch TV or go to a movie or sometimes
just sit and read. Over dinner we talked. Jeb told me about running an
engineering and fabrication plant and I bounced plot lines off of him.
Sometimes he'd talk about his children, Sam, Jr. and Samantha, both then in
their thirties.  He laughed when I raised an eyebrow at their names and
told me their mother had been named Sarah and they'd decided to keep the
initials in the family. Samantha had done him the favor of marrying a man
named Sidney and had named her children Stanley, Shirley and Sasha. Sam,
Jr. was as yet unmarried but he was living with a woman named.  Andrea. I
knew I was going to like him!

All of this was very comfortable and over the period of a year and a half
or so we became about as close as any two people who don't sleep together
can be.

In mid-September sometime I called him at his office to suggest dinner at
Zapolleti's. His secretary said he was out of the office for a couple of
hours and it was just as well since the office staff was planning a little
birthday celebration for him. This was news to me and I realized I hadn't
the least notion just when his birthday was or how old he actually was.
His secretary not only filled me in but also invited me to the party. "He
speaks so highly of you Mr. Lindner. I just know he'd be pleased if you
came."

I begged off the party but thought perhaps I should do something to mark
the occasion as well-after all, it was the big 6-0. I spent some time
thinking about what I'd like to do on my sixtieth birthday-only a couple of
years away-and decided I'd want to do something sixty year olds don't
usually do.

Four nights later, over chocolate cannoli at Zapolleti's, I handed him a
tacky birthday card which characterized him as "youth impaired". He loved
it. When he read the note inside, though, he frowned. "Disneyland? That's
pretty much for kids isn't it? I remember Sarah used to take the kids there
once in a while."

I'd given him four days at Disneyland-with me as tour guide, of
course. "You'll love it, Jeb. Trust me on this." It took some convincing
but he finally agreed.

We arrived at John Wayne Airport a week later, in the midst of Southern
California's late summer with air as clear as crystal and the temperatures
in the low 80's-cool compared to the desert we had just left. I'd arranged
for a limousine to take us to the Disneyland Hotel and by the time we were
checked in and the bell boy was turning on the air conditioning and
checking the towels I could see that Jeb was going to enjoy the experience
in spite of himself. When the bellboy left Jeb went out on the balcony and
looked over the park. "You know, Walter, I've never in my life been here?"
He turned and smiled at me. "I still think it's for kids though, no matter
what you say."

We explored the hotel grounds-almost an amusement park in themselves-and
then ate an early dinner on the deck of one of the restaurants there. Back
in our room Jeb opened the drapes and looked at the park, shimmering below
us. "It is a kids fantasy, isn't it?" he said, just as the sky exploded
with brilliant streamers of fire. "Fireworks too? Oh God, I love
fireworks."

We stood on the balcony and watched the show, oohing and ahhhing like
everyone else.  When it was over we went inside and got ready for bed. Jeb
took a shower while I turned back the beds and switched on CNN just to see
if anything had happened in the world since we'd left the desert. Jeb came
out of the bathroom, toweling his hair and stood for a moment, watching the
news. "Same old stuff," he said, dismissing it. "You mind if we leave the
drapes open? No one to see in and I like the morning light."

I nodded and went to take my own shower.

Finally in bed, the only light in the room coming from the park outside,
Jeb held his arm out in the space between the beds and said "Thanks
Walter. It's a great birthday present."  I reached out and shook his
hand. "Good. G'night Jeb."

I turned over and thought: My God, it's Brick and his football buddy all
over again. With that, and the image of Jeb standing naked in front of the
TV drying his hair, I went to sleep.

The next day was wonderful. We took the first monorail into the park, just
as it was opening. Since school was back in session the crowds were small
and there was almost no wait for anything. We did a lot of the big rides
first: Space Mountain, Star Tours, the Haunted House. Jeb nestled in
between my legs on the Matterhorn ride and laughed at every drop and
hairpin turn and when it was over insisted on going again and then once
more. On the jungle ride he laughed at the mechanical alligators and
pointed with delight when the hippopotamus opened it's mouth so the boat
driver could shoot it. The Tiki Room almost did him in, making him twist
his head this way and that to see all the animated birds and flowers sing
and dance.

We had burgers and fries and chocolate milkshakes for lunch and then, God
help us, rushed off to the Mad Hatter's Tea Cup ride. Followed by the
Matterhorn again. Finally, at four, I threw in the towel. "My feet hurt, my
face is sunburned, and I'm still queasy from the tea cups. Can we go back
to the hotel and put our feet up for a little while?"

He agreed, reluctantly, and we went back to our room and took a nap. Three
hours later we were back in the park, having dinner with the Pirates of the
Caribbean. That was followed by a parade, fireworks and-you guessed it-the
Matterhorn again. And again.

I decided I'd created a monster.

The next day was much the same except that it was Jeb who suggested going
back to the hotel in the afternoon. We poured drinks in our room which
neither of us finished. We fell asleep before we had the chance.

We woke around seven and, happily, Jeb suggested we have dinner in the
hotel. I chose the seafood restaurant next to the artificial lake and we
were seated on the deck, right next to the water. The food turned out to be
very, very good and we spent time savoring it, along with a fresh, crisp
California white wine. When we were finished I suggested a brandy at the
bar.

"No, I think I'd rather walk a little," Jeb said. "I've had a glass or two
too much wine and you know how I hate that."

We walked in silence along the narrow path that circled the lake. We
weren't a quarter of the way around before I realized that somewhere in our
walk we had begun to hold hands.  At about the halfway mark Jeb suddenly
stopped and looked at me for a long time. Then he laughed and said he
wanted to sit for a bit.

We found a bench set back in the landscaping and sat, still holding
hands. I had no idea what was going on but I wasn't about to ask, either.

"You know, Walter, I haven't enjoyed anything like this since I was a
little kid. It's been a wonderful experience. Thank you." He was silent for
a long time before he turned and spoke directly to me. "You're a homosexual
aren't you?"

I didn't see how this could possibly be new information. "Yeah."

He seemed to watch the lights glinting on the water for a long time. Then:
"How does a man get that way? Become a homosexual?"

Uh oh. This was serious. I took a long moment to think about it before
answering. "I think maybe it's born in him, Jeb. Some of us. Like an
alternate path. Some men-like me-find that path right away and happily
follow it all our lives. For some others it's like a frontage road, one
they can turn onto once in a while and then leave, going back to the main
highway. And I guess some guys don't even know it's there until one day
they come across a hidden access road. For most men, though, it isn't there
at all, no matter what they might think when they hit a construction zone
on the main road." I was intensely aware of his fingers intertwined with
mine.

"That's an interesting way of looking at it, Walter, very interesting."
There was a long pause and then: "Let's walk some more, shall we?" We rose
from the bench and started around the lake again. "You know that day we
met? At the clinic?" His voice was low and I had to strain to hear him. "I
was there because I'm-I was impotent." He laughed but there was no
enjoyment in it. "What I mean is, I couldn't get it up anymore. Not with a
woman, not with my hand, not with. Anyway, I went to the doctor and he gave
me these little plastic rings to wear at night, on my penis. If the ring
wasn't still there in the morning, if it had broken, that meant I'd had an
erection during the night. It meant that there was nothing physical
stopping me from having an erection. It meant it was all in my head." He
gave me a quick look. "The things broke every damn night."

He was silent for a time, thinking. Then he whispered "Okay" to himself and
pulled me off the path, up against a tree, away from the lights. "But I'm
not any more," he said, grabbing his crotch with our intertwined
fingers. "Because of you." I felt the hardness through his jeans, heavy and
rigid. Hardly a man with a problem.

Then he was kissing me, his hands at the nape of my neck driving chills and
fire down my spine. I slipped my arms under his and held him by the
shoulders for a moment and then slipped down his back until my hands were
cupping his ass. He was firm there, too, like a gymnast. I pulled him in
tight, letting him feel my sudden hardness against his own.

At the same time our tongues were fighting for space in each other's
mouths. I finally gave in to him and let his tongue invade my mouth. When
it did I began to suck on it. That's when he surrendered to me and started
to whimper.

The rest took us both by surprise.

There was a sound, like a helicopter in the distance only it was coming
from Jeb. I let go of his tongue and he sucked in air and went completely
rigid against me. Then he lost control and I felt his spasms against my
crotch. It took a long time and when he was through he went limp against me
and I had to hold him to keep him from falling. I was happy to do it.

We stood that way, holding on to each other, until Jeb got his legs
back. "Was that a confession or what?" he chuckled. Then, very serious: "I
think I've just made a great fool of myself, haven't I? You want to go
home? Back to Tucson and forget this ever happened?"

I hugged him tightly for a moment and then pulled back and looked in his
eyes. "No. To all the questions." I kissed him lightly on the lips and
pulled him back to the path where we walked in silence back to the hotel.

In the room Jeb went immediately into the bathroom, embarrassed by the
large, wet stain on the front of his jeans. When he'd showered he came into
the room and got immediately into bed, as though his nakedness embarrassed
him. I went to take my own shower and when I came back he had turned the
lights off and was lying on his side, facing the glow from the park. I
thought he might be asleep but he said in a low voice, "I'm okay Walter. I
just need to think for a while." I squeezed his shoulder, climbed into bed
and let myself drift away, one ear tuned to him, in case he needed
anything.

It was maybe three hours later that I woke to the sound of Jeb getting out
of bed. He stood for a long time in the space which separated our
beds. "You okay, Jeb?" I asked, turning onto my back.

"I. Yea, I'm okay. I'm just a little lonesome, that's all. Is it okay if."

I raised the corner of the sheet. "Come on. It's fine." He crawled into the
bed and lay rigidly on his back next to me. Not knowing what else to do, I
rolled up on my side and threw a leg and an arm over him and pulled him
close. Unplanned, my knee came to rest directly over his cock -- which
began to stir almost immediately.

"Is it okay?" he asked in a quiet voice, flexing his cock just a little. "I
don't know if." He turned his head and looked at me. "Damn. What I'm trying
to say is I don't know if you have any interest in me that way and I sure
as hell don't want to force myself on you like some hormone crazed kid." He
took a deep breath.

I started to laugh but caught it before it got out. That had been hard for
him to say and I didn't want to make this any harder for him than it
already was. "Jeb," I said, catching his erection in the bend of my knee,
"I am very interested in you that way. I always have been."

His eyes brightened in the dim light. "Would you show me? What to do? How."
He let out a low chuckle. "You know, always before I've been the one in
charge, been the one to -- I don't know, lead I guess. Now I don't even
know how it's done."

"Don't worry, Jeb. I think you'll find it comes quite naturally. Now,
here's your first lesson. Never try anything when you're exhausted because
in that state there's no way it can go right." I rolled him onto his side
and pulled him up against me, my dick folded up and resting along the
valley between his buns. "So. What you do is you get some sleep.  Then,
well, then we let Nature take its course." I kissed him on the neck and
felt him begin to relax against me. He was asleep almost before I finished
thinking how much I'd missed sleeping with a man.

We woke in the early morning, the room turned a soft gold from the rising
sun glinting off Sleeping Beauty's Castle. We were both erect, a
combination of passion and full bladders.  I sent Jeb to the bathroom
first, then followed when he came out looking relieved but still excited. I
returned to find him stretched out with the sheet over him, looking very
self conscious.

"Do you think a small demonstration might help?" I gently pulled the sheet
back and began touching him, both with my hands and my lips. I nuzzled into
the pale blond fur that covered his chest and found a nipple which I
tongued lightly. I felt him stiffen under me and I wondered if anyone had
ever done this to him before. Not having had much experience with straight
men I also wondered if he was going to have a problem with it, think it
un-masculine to feel pleasure there. He answered my question by relaxing
into it and letting me know he felt it-and liked it. I nipped just a little
in response and felt goose bumps begin to rise along his arms.

I worked my way down and tongued his belly button which made him laugh and
then rested my cheek against his abdomen, listening to his internal works
and gazing at his dick which was standing straight out in the air. It was a
handsome thing, round as a garden hose but substantially thicker. He had a
short foreskin which clung to the middle of the cockhead and which I knew
was going to stay back behind it when I put it there. I reached out and
touched him, on the underside of the head; he flexed and his dick hit me
squarely on the nose.

I nestled in between his legs and boosted myself up on my elbows so I was
looking straight down on him, and he could feel my breath on the head of
his dick. Then I took him in my mouth. He whimpered the whole way and when
I paused I could feel him fighting for control. I tried to help him by
holding myself perfectly still on him and it actually worked for a
while. Then he whispered, "I can't, Walter. I can't. I'm." He let out a
sigh and came in long, hard spasms. When he was finished I waited a while,
wanting to feel him go soft on my tongue but nothing much happened so I
finally gave it up and crawled up to take him in my arms.

"For an impotent man you have one hell of an erection down there," I said
pulling him close and pushing my knee up between his legs so I could feel
his balls against it.

"I think it likes you," he answered with a laugh. "I know I do." He began
to kiss me, sucking on my tongue and nipping gently at my mustache. "Well,"
he said when I was breathing hard, "let's see if I've learned anything from
your demonstration."

He went directly for the cock, crawling in between my legs and taking it
into his mouth fast. Too fast. His gag reflex kicked in and he pulled back
in a hurry, looking surprised.  "Slow," I said, tousling his
hair. "Easy. And if it bothers you then come back up here.  There's lots of
other things we can do."

He shook his head. "No. I want to." He took my cock in his hand and gently
touched it everywhere, as though comparing it with the way his own
felt. His touch was like a million feathers all floating past at once. Then
he took the head in his mouth and began to explore it with his tongue.

"Easy, Jeb. I'm very close and you're going to drive me right over the edge
doing that."  My voice sounded horse even to me.

Jeb looked up at me and came as close to a grin as a man can with a cock in
his mouth. He took more of me into his mouth and closed his eyes. One of us
let out a long sigh -- it might have been me -- and we rested, my dick
lying almost still against his tongue as he very slowly took more and more
of me into his mouth.

"Oh, Jeb, Jeb. I'm going to."

He stopped and became absolutely still. I focused on the light fixture on
the ceiling and felt the tension ebb. Then he began again, slower than
before but still taking me deeper in his mouth. When I began to moan he
stopped, letting me back off a little before taking more of me in. When I
felt my cock hit the back of his throat it was all over and I let out a
yell, telling him to pull off because I was going to come no matter
what. He didn't pull off though, he took a deep breath, forced my dick down
his throat and began to swallow.

I thought I might actually die from the pleasure, it was so great.

When I was coherent again Jeb moved up on the bed and took me in his
arms. He shoved his knee between my legs, tight into my crotch just as I
had done to him and I wondered if it was for the same reason. Later I found
out it was. He liked the feel of my balls against his skin.

"You know," he said after a while, combing his fingers through my hair,
"I. I didn't think it would be like that. No," he put his hand over my
mouth, stopping my question; I licked his palm instead which made his eyes
twinkle. "Let me tell you because I don't think you have any idea what's
just happened here. I went to do. well, what I thought I should do. Bring
you pleasure the way you did to me. But when I knew, when you let me know
what. what pleasure I was bringing you, the pleasure became mine,
too. Always before the object has been. well, it's been to bring the
partner to orgasm as soon as possible. But here it was to keep you from it,
to stretch it out as long as possible. Because it was my pleasure too and I
didn't want it to end. Does that make any sense, Walter?"

It made a lot of sense and I told him so. Then we drifted off to sleep for
a while, lying spoon fashion, his buns pressed against my cock and my hand
just resting on his dick. I don't believe he ever did go soft.

We woke an hour or two later and Jeb discovered the joys of sucking a cock
at the same time his was being sucked. We quickly learned how to
communicate, how to let each other know just where we were and how long we
wanted it to last. It lasted a very long time. Then we napped again, this
time with his dick pressed into the valley between my buns and his hand on
my cock.

When we woke again Jeb called room service and ordered breakfast: real
steaks -- not those thin little breakfast things -- with eggs, potatoes,
rolls, coffee and a bottle of very good champagne. When it came we ate it
all and then went back to bed where we spent the rest of the day exploring
each other.

Around four, Housekeeping threatened to break the door down to give us
clean towels so we decamped to the hotel pool where we swam laps and tried
not to look at each other in our Speedos. It didn't matter. Just being
together kept us both about half hard and we got a number of envious looks
from the other guys around the pool.

After dinner we went back into the park for the parade and fireworks. We
stood back and pretended no one would notice that we were holding hands.

The next morning we flew back to the desert and our everyday existence
which we found had been radically changed. It's amazing what a trip to an
amusement park can do.

Thank you Mickey Mouse.


Thank You Mickey Mouse


-- 10 --