Knowing When to Leave

By Ritch Christopher (Of Blessed Memory)

Published on Jun 19, 2001

Gay

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All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language, please exit now.

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"Go, while the going is good,

Knowing when to leave may be the smartest thing

that anyone can learn.

GO!"

Hal David/Burt Bacharach

from "Promises, Promises" (1967)

All rights reserved by

Blue Seas Music, Inc., JAC Music Co.Inc.,

and Edwin H. Morris Co.Inc.

Doug's phone call had left me flabbergasted. It must have been at least fifteen years since I had last seen him and that had been at a class reunion. And now, out of the blue, he calls, asking me to pick him up at the airport. He and Dolores, his high school sweetheart, had married during their first year in college. Now twenty years had passed, and, from his conversation to me on the phone, things were not all that pleasant in Eden. I had never questioned either of them as to why they'd chosen not to have children, but in this day and age of equal opportunities for men and women, lots of couples don't want to raise a family.

I suppose, over the past ten years, I had sent them four or five Christmas cards and they'd returned the favor by sending me one...only after they'd received mine. That was about the extent of our communication. We'd written no letters or made no phone calls to one another.

Doug and I had been buddies during the four years of high school occasionally double-dating and sometimes spending the night at the other's house after a game or a late movie. "Buddies"...nothing more, nothing less, having very few serious conversations between us concerning life and love. After graduation, he'd gone his way and I'd gone mine and our paths had only crossed once for one evening the night of the reunion.

Two years after I'd graduated from college, I took a job with an advertising agency, which is where I had met Carolyn, the girl who became my bride...after a two year courting period. Carolyn was from upstate New York. Her family was upper-crust, making her the main attraction at several high-society debutante balls. Even though her parents had never said it, I always felt that they thought Carolyn had won the booby prize when she accepted my proposal. The closest my family came to society was when they accidentally turned to section four of my hometown newspaper. We were in the upper-third of the lower class of Brenton, Virginia.

As a child, I had had dreams of going to Hollywood and directing epic pictures. But somewhere along the way, I had settled for making television commercials for local companies or class "C" products in Baltimore, where I had gone to college. Carolyn was a real "looker". She had had aspirations of becoming a movie actress, or at least THE representative campaign girl for Lanvin or Dior. She wanted to start "small" and get her feet wet before going to New York and tackling the big accounts. So that's where the two of us met..at the same small Baltimore agency.

With her career goal being foremost in her thoughts, Carolyn had told me many times while we were dating that if and when she ever married, she would have NO children...natural or adopted. Nothing was going to spoil her looks, her figure, or her youth. To be perfectly honest, the whole length of our courtship, we had never had sex one time. I respected her wishes and forced myself to control any sex drive I'd ever had...BUT she WAS fun to be around, and so we married. She liked to go to fun places and do fun things.

That was enough for me...just being around her to share the things she wanted to do.

Doug and Dolores, on the other hand, had moved to Atlanta after college for him to pursue a career in law enforcement. Since he had majored in criminology at the University of Virginia ranking second in his class, it was an easy step to work his way into a position as an agent with the GBI, dealing mostly with drug and illegal firearms enforcement. From time to time Doug had to travel to various parts of the country to gather evidence or go to Washington to make a report to the FBI. It was on his latest trip that he had decided to make a stopover in Baltimore to visit his old school chum...me. But, why now, after all these years?

I assumed when he called that he had business to do in D.C., so I hadn't bothered to ask if he planned on staying the night, or if we would just meet for dinner, drinks, and a talk and then he would either take a shuttle or rent a car and drive on to Washington. His flight was due in at 4:30 PM. I hadn't made reservations for us at one of Baltimore's fine restaurants. I had plenty of food in my refrigerator at home. We could always feast on a New York strip, salad and baked potato, but I would let Doug decide what he'd rather do about dinner plans.

Being in "show biz" per se, I managed to keep fit and trim, watching my diet and working out twice a week at a local gym. The better I looked, the better the chance I would have for making better contacts. I presumed Doug's job would keep him in good physical shape, certainly not looking like Rod Steiger, the stereotyped balding and paunched southern law officer in "In the Heat of the Night".

When the passengers came down the escalator from gate 118, the fourth person on the stairway was Doug, looking like a drop-dead gorgeous twenty year old athletic hunk. I thought for a moment I was looking at Eddie Cibrian, the deep-dimpled masseur who had stripped in "Living Out Loud" while giving a massage to Holly Hunter. Eddie now played a fireman on the TV series, "Third Watch". Even though I might have been disappointed that it was not the movie star, I was astounded to see that it was my friend. It must be something in the Atlanta water or Dolores knew how to cook a proper meal. Whatever it was, Doug had taken full advantage of it and would probably have no trouble getting a modelling job from any agency in the country, should he ever want to change careers.

"Hey, buddy!" I yelled, waving at him.

"Chris, you old son-of-a-bitch! You look wonderful!", he yelled back.

We met and embraced, making sure we slapped each other's back three times. That's the way men always hugged. with audible pats, so that people who might be watching would not get the wrong ideas about the huggers' sexuality. Women and gay guys always clutched when they embraced without any hand noises.

"You haven't aged one bit since the last time I saw you..what was it? Fifteen years ago at old Brenton High reunion? If anything, you've 'youthened'!" I said, giving him one final hug.

"You don't look so bad yourself, for a guy who stays on the director's side of a camera. You should pose for your own commercials, get famous like the guy on the Sprint ad, and drive the women crazy." he replied.

"No, no, I like giving orders, not taking them. If I want to get mad and yell at one of my actors, I can say whatever I want to him. He doesn't have the privilege of yelling back at me because he knows there are dozens of pretty faces on the other side of the door waiting for him to fuck up and get the chance to replace him."

"What about the women? Do you ever yell at them too?" he asked.

"Only when they aren't giving me what I want." I said,

"Isn't that called sexual harrassment?"

"I didn't mean what I wanted in the bedroom, you clown, I meant when they don't give me that certain look or smile I need to sell a product. How's your job...do you always get your man...or woman as the case may be?" I asked.

"Work keeps me busy. It seems the more drugs I bust, the more the drugs keep coming, especially from South America and the Caribbean." he said.

"Is that why you're on your way to Washington?"

"Only partially. I do have to go to the big guys and show them how well we're doing and how much better we could do if we could hire more agents. It's the usual money appropriation's pitch, but that's not the real reason I'm here."

"Oh ho! Now we start revealing the clues, Mr Bond. I knew there had to be a better excuse for calling me after so long a time." I said.

"I'm afraid there was only one Mr.Bond in Atlanta and his first name was Julian, not James." he joked. "Hey! Do we have to talk here? Couldn't we go to your place or to a restaurant or something?" he asked.

"Some undercover agent you are...why do you think I brought my car? We can go to my place or anywhere you like. Are you going on into Washington tonight?"

"I'm not sure. I need to talk with you about several things...so I can check into a hotel here, or stay at your place if you have room."

"Get fucking serious, will you? Of course you can stay at my place! Hell, you can stay a week, a month, as long as you like. Why didn't you say so over the phone when you called. I thought you just wanted to stop for a chaw and a talk. I hadn't realized you were coming for a visit." I said.

"It's O.K., then? I don't want to interfere with your work or plans or anything you might have going on."

"I told you I'm my own boss. I make the plans. I set the schedule. Trust me when I say you're not interfering with any work or any plans I have. Besides, we have about twenty years to catch up on. I don't do much drinking at the house, but my bar is filled with anything you like. So, do you have any bags to checkout?"

"Yeah. I have the claim checks in my pocket."

"Well, you go get your luggage while I go get the car and I'll keep driving around the exit door until you come out. Look for a red Chrysler convertible with the top down."

"Pretty snazzy for a guy your age, isn't it?" he quipped

"I suppose in your line of work you drive an Aston-Martin, emulating your silver-screen icon."

"I wish...Shit! We're lucky if they issue us Ford Pintos, so either we won't look suspicious or else they'll have something to blame it on in case we're killed in the line of fire." he joked

"You're six months older than I, Gramps!, but you look young enough to get carded at any bar. Not bad for two thirty-eight year old farts.." I said,

"Who's thirty-eight. I only admit to twenty-nine." he said, laughing.

"Oh? Is that another one of undercover disguise? Whatever it is, you could convince me." I said. "I guess I'd better put the top up on the car. the women might attack you the first time I have to stop at a red light."

"Hey, will you get off that "looks" bit. You're making me self-conscious."

"Why not? Discovering beauty is my business. I'm sure you're aware of how good-looking you are?" I asked.

"Fuck off and go get your car!!".he said. He really did look as though I had embarrassed him. I didn't know you could make a Sean Connery impersonator blush. I'd have to keep that idea in mind. It might be something I could use in a commercial some time.

I got the car and drove around the large lot three times before Doug emerged, carrying two large suitcases. Either one of them was filled with guns, a lie detector or detective devices, or Doug had brought enough clothes with him to stay somewhere a long time. Whichever the case, he was not away from home for a mere overnight visit. The plot became more mysterious with this second clue. When I loaded the trunk, I made no mention of his unusual large amount of luggage. Instead, on the way to my house we kept the conversation filled with inane chit-chat of sports, weather, and things he pointed out on our way, including two well-stacked blonde females in very short and very, very tight skirts. You could almost read the Victoria's Secret labels on their bikini panties through the cotton skirt fabric.

"Do you suppose they shave or get waxed?" he asked.

"They probably have two trained Maltese cats who lick off their unwanted hair on their legs and snatches." I replied.

"That's right. Back home we call that getting a pussy for pussy duty." he joked back.

"They're probably dikes, laughing at all the men they're exciting." I said.

"Used to, all lesbians tried to dress like men, but nowadays, you can't tell 'em apart from the real thing anymore." he said.

"Yeah, all the female movie stars we used to lust over when we were kids, later wrote books and revealed they preferred women over men."

"Yeah and a lot of the men stars do the same thing. Only they claim they were bi or blame it on what happened to them at boy scout camp when they were kids" he said. "Did you hear about that one hundred million dollar lawsuit?" he asked.

"I read about it, but I don't think he needs the money. Five hundred million would have been plenty enough to prove his point. The poor kid who's being sued probably doesn't have fifty bucks to his name."

"Why do you suppose people start rumors like that?" he asked.

"You're the super spy detective. You tell me. I can only think of two reasons. Either the kid is telling the truth about the star and wants to get a couple of million settling out of court or the kid is too fucking dumb to realize that by lying he'll get bad publicity, instead of the kind of publicity he was looking for. Either way, his career is ruined for life. However if the kid does have proof, it's worth it for the star to shell out a few million to squash the rumor before his own career is ruined. If you're well known enough to make say, five, ten, or twenty million dollars a picture, what's a couple of million to give away to save the zillions you could lose in the future if the real truth got out?"

"A lot of stars have lost their careers by NOT fighting the rumors."

"Yeah, and a lot of stars had no defense to fight the rumors with. Some day it won't matter if a person is gay or an ex-addict, People will just accept them for what they are or have been and say, 'So what?'...and then that'll be the end of all such lawsuits and rumors." I said.

"Do you think that the public and society will ever become that permissive about a person's life-style?"

"Sure. Look at guys like Rupert Everett. He's a good looking guy who's openly gay and stars in films opposite Julia Roberts, Madonna, Julianne Moore. Women dig him. So do men. It hasn't hurt his career and I'll bet you he doesn't work for scale. Did anyone ask Greg Louganis to give back his gold medals or Elton John to give back his millions? I meet a lot of gay men and women in my line of work. Where male models are concerned, the better looking they are, the more you assume you know about their sexuality. The world of modelling is like the world of body building. The men are attracted to 'that guy' who they think looks better than them. They beautify their faces and bodies to be the best. A muscle guy longs to touch that bicep or torso that he admires on the guy working out next to him at the gym. The male model dyes his hair, tans his body, wears makeup, plucks his eyebrows and changes the color of his eyes with lenses, caps his teeth for the perfect smile...not to attract women, but to be admired by the guys he competes with. The same thing goes with women and their boob jobs. There's more collagen and silicone used in Gertrude Stein's world than there is in the world of the Brady Bunch's mother."

I pulled the car into my driveway just as I had finished my speech.

"Wow! Was this yours and Carolyn's house?" he asked as we opened the front door.

"No, I bought this place and moved in about six months after Carolyn was killed...about five years ago." I said.

"Chris, Dolores and I were so sorry we didn't attend the funeral or send flowers or something, but we didn't know anything about her death until my mother just happened to mention it one day, two years after the crash."

"That's O.K. They never found enough of her body to bury it. Her parents. to save face among their elite circle, bought a huge expensive casket and buried it empty at a cemetery in their home town in New York. They even topped the grave with a large marble headstone. It was all for show and I didn't bother to attend." I said.

"She was on a flight coming from Paris?" he asked.

"Yes, she had flown over to France to scout some locales for a big shoot I was planning to do six months later. On her return trip, somehow the pilot developed some problem in his instrument panel and veered way off his course and got lost in a fog coming down from Greenland. He didn't know how much altitude he had lost and took a nose dive right into the northern Atlantic. The plane was going so fast at the time it crashed, there was nothing left but six inch pieces in the entire rummage. It was like when you feed a tree branch into a shredder...nothing left but mulch.

"Christ! That must've been difficult for you. You must miss her a lot."

"I did and still do, especially at work. We were a team both at work and at home."

"Are you still wearing the black arm band or has it been long enough for you to start dating again?" he asked.

"I occasionally take a client or a potential new model to lunch, but that's about the extent of my entire social life." I said.

"You were always the big stud back in high school. I can't imagine you just cutting yourself off from the company of the opposite sex." he said.

"In my line of work, I photograph beautiful women almost every day...some clothed and some not so clothed. But when the work day is over, I just want to come home, relax, put on a CD and sketch out my plans for the next's day's shoot."

"You don't ever bring the 'bodies' involved with your work home with you..say, a tall blonde with breast and butt implants?"

"That's the very thing I try to keep at the office. I don't need that kind of business interfering with my home life. It would take a terrific woman to take Carolyn's place in my life...and so far I haven't come close to finding her yet."

"Believe me Chris, I know you too well. If you get horny enough, you'll let down a few barriers. A man has to have some vegetables to go along with his meat. Your joints will get old and stiff from being out of practice."

I waited for a moment before I replied to his remark.

"Do you want to take both of your bags in or leave them in the trunk?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Both, if you don't mind. My God, your house is beautiful. Business must be good."

"Business IS good. But I bought the house with some of the money I got in the airline settlement." I said, realizing I had gotten back to the topic I was trying to avoid.

"Shit! You have a pool AND a tennis court?" he asked astonished.

"That's how I keep my body in shape."

"Maybe it's not the females you're trying to attract, Are you trying to get male models or body-builders to admire you?"

"Hell, no. I keep fit for GBI agents who come to visit me every twenty years or so." I joked. "Don't forget, there is no longer a ban on female agents at the Federal Bureau before you get any wild ideas I'm referring to you."

"I'm fully aware of the lack of sexual barriers. My last partner was a woman." he said.

"Was?" I asked.

"She developed an impairment which put her on light-duty assignments." he said.

"Was she wounded in the line of duty?" I asked.

"Sorta. She's eight months pregnant and has a hard time finding a place to conceal her weapon."

"Maybe she could stuff a time bomb up inside her next the baby and make your perps think she's carrying twins."

He laughed.

"Is it O.K. if I put your bags in the guest room."

"Sure, Thanks."

"Why don't you make yourself home over at the bar and fix a drink?" I invited.

"Will you have one, too?"

"A small one. Maybe just about a half jigger of scotch with lots of ice and water. As I told you, I don't drink much. It's too easy to make a habit of food or drink when you live alone." I said.

"You can make a habit of it when you live with someone, too."

"Doug, you've been hinting at something all afternoon. Are you ready to spill it or do I have to play 'Twenty Questions' like we used to at parties when we were kids?"

"Maybe you should've been the one who's a detective." he said.

"Dammit! If you've got something to say, just say it. Who am I going to repeat it to? We live hundreds of miles apart. It's not like we travel in the same circle of friends."

"O.K. Here goes...Dolores and I are getting a divorce after being married eighteen years."

For a moment, I just stood there staring at him.

"Jesus, that's eleven years too late for either of you to be getting the 'seven year itch'. Have either of you found someone new or someone you're sleeping with?" I asked.

"Not yet."

"Not yet? What's that supposed to mean? You're looking for someone new to sleep with after eighteen years and you're just now getting the urge? Or is it Dolores that's looking?" I asked.

"Hell, if that's all it was, we'd've divorced years ago. We haven't slept together in over ten years." he said.

"Jesus! What do you do for sex?" I asked.

"I have my own private collections of books, magazines, pictures, and video tapes." he said.

"What about Dolores? Does she have posters of Brad Pitt and Antonio Banderas on her bedroom walls?"

"I'm sure if she does, she's glued Trojan packets over their crotches."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"The whole time, when we were first married and even up until ten years ago, Dolores was scared shitless of getting pregnant. It's embarrassing to say this to you, but she'd rather give me a hand or blow job than let me enter her vagina. You know that in eighteen years of marriage my own wife never let me fuck her one time without using a rubber? I've only felt the lining of her twat with my finger. Hell, at one point, just to please me, she used to let me fuck her in the ass. To her, she'd preferred the pain over the prospect of motherhood."

"Good God, Doug. I always thought you were plowing her, all through high school, the way you two would make out in the back seat whenever we double-dated." I said, surprised.

"That's what she wanted everyone to think. Usually, if you heard her moan, it was only my finger up inside her...never my dick. Do you mind if I fix myself another drink?" he asked, quickly downing the first one.

"Go ahead. The bar is yours. Drink every goddamned bottle over there if you like. I don't touch it."

"Thanks. I'm afraid I've been bending my elbow a lot lately.,,but NOT while I'm working. At work, I stay busy and don't think about the problems I have at home."

"Hey, would you like me to throw on a couple of steaks and let's eat here tonight?"

"There's nothing I'd like better."

I went into the kitchen. He followed me after he'd poured another tumbler of bourbon. If I had drunk half that, I would already be under a table, but he seemed to be able to 'hold his liquor'. I began tearing apart a head of lettuce to make a salad and scrubbed a couple of large Idaho potatoes to bake. I thought if I got busy cooking, he could talk as much or as long as he wanted without any interjections from me.

"I am curious, though, Doug. Why did you call me to say all these things? I'm sure you must have closer friends than I in Atlanta." I asked.

"That's part two of my revelation, but I'm not quite ready to tell you just yet. I want to build the mystery up to a explosive climax, you know, like Hercule Poirot."

"In that case, maybe I need a stronger drink. The suspense is killing me."

"What's your pleasure, sir?" he asked.

"I'll have another scotch, but this time on the rocks without the water."

"Your wish is my command, Emiril."

When he handed me the drink, I drank half of it in one swig. I didn't usually do this unless I'd had a stressful day on a shoot. Whatever Doug was leading up to was making me edgy. Did he travel all this way to tell me he had killed Dolores and hidden her body? I knew I had a surprise in store for me. I just needed the scotch to steady me.

"Drink up, buddy boy," he said, "You're gonna need a lot more booze when I get through telling you everything." (Just as I suspected).

"Jesus, Doug! What the fuck's going on?...Just tell me one thing!...You haven't done something drastic and hurt Dolores physically, have you?" I asked, almost panicking.

"Good God, Chris, what do you think? That I've killed Dolores and flew all the way to Baltimore to tell you about it and ask you what I should do? Police work is my line, remember, not yours." he said.

"Then I don't get it!" I said, getting annoyed by his attitude.

"You will...just give me a chance to get around to it...O.K.? What I have to tell you is not easy...and 'NO', it doesn't involve some crime you think I might've committed." he said.

Just to breathe for a moment, I asked, "How do you take your steak? Medium? Rare? Well-done?"

"Just knock the breath out of the cow...raw as you can cook it. No steak sauce...mercurochrome will do." he said.

"Then, in that case, why don't you set the table because dinner will be ready in about two lamb's shakes. The dishes are there and the silverware's in the drawer," I said, pointing with a fork.

I had to create this diversion because the intensity of our conversation was reaching an uncomfortable level. We both remained quiet until we sat down to eat.

"What? No wine?" he asked.

"Sure, I always keep a bottle of rose' or chablis in the cooler under the bar, just in case I have guests or clients who might want a glass." I said.

"Which do you prefer?" he asked.

"Who said I wanted any? I'm not used to drinking this much...anytime. I usually have a glass of Perrier with dinner, but since it's obvious you're trying to get me drunk so that you can tell me whatever you're hemming and hawing about, I'll have whichever one you choose." I said,

"Good! Beef...rose'." he said, getting the bottle from the cooler and removing the cork. He brought two goblets with him as he returned to the table. He poured us each a full glass of the red wine.

"Very nice and very expensive," he said as he poured. "What shall we drink to?" he asked.

"You decide since you seem to hold all the answers to your mystery." I said, grimly.

"Let's drink to us...to old times...and what might have been." he said, raising his goblet.

"Whatever...", I replied.

"You seemed like you're pissed at me." he said.

"Oh, really?", I said, with slight sarcasm. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I didn't want to get you in a bad mood. I've looked forward to spending an evening with you." he said.

"Just so you could play your little games with me?" I asked.

"I'm not trying to play a game. I'm trying to approach you with a very delicate subject and I'm afraid I've made an ass out of myself in not knowing how to say what I want."

"My God, Doug, we've known each other for over a quarter of a century. We were buddies back in high school. We shared secrets. We even slept in the same bed a couple of times, if I remember correctly." I said.

"That was when my problem first started." he said,

"What do you mean."

"Us...sleeping together." he said, coyly.

"Well, shit, nothing happened between us. Neither one of us was queer or anything. We both had steady girlfriends. I had several while you always had Dolores." I said.

"Yeah, but it was after nights I spent with you that I lay alone in my bed, not thinking about Dolores...but about you." he said.

"Doug! Are you drunk? What the fuck are you saying?"

He paused for a moment and folded his napkin and looked down at his uneaten steak. He never looked me in the eyes.

"Chris, I don't know how to say this, but the real reason Dolores and I are splitting up is because I think I'm gay." he finally managed to say.

"Now I know for sure that you're drunk!" I said.

"NO! I MEAN IT! LISTEN TO ME, GODDAMMIT! This is hard for me to say.

I looked at him for a moment...then said, "You're really serious, aren't you?" I asked, in disbelief.

"Very. My feelings have ruined my marriage and if I find out I'm right about myself, it could be the end of my job. The GBI doesn't look too favorably on their agents if they're thought to be homosexual." he said, almost in tears.

"And you were serious when you said you'd had these feelings about me, way back in high school?"

"Chris, I shot many loads of cum, thinking about you while I jerked off at night, alone in my bed."

"But you never "let on" about it. How was I supposed to know?" I asked.

"That was the problem. You WEREN'T supposed to know anything about it."

"When did these feelings start surfacing to make you doubt yourself?"

"I don't know. I guess I've always had them. It's like you said in the car this afternoon, guys who consider themselves 'good-loooking' are attracted to more of the same. There are men I work with who can get me sexually aroused, just being with them. I've even gotten erections when I was interrogating a suspect, if he was handsome. The first few years that Dolores and I didn't sleep together, I got myself off by looking at sex magazines or porno videos which showed both naked women and naked men engaging in all kinds of 'doing the nasty'. I found myself 'getting off' by looking at the size of the men's dicks more often than how inviting the women's cunts might've looked. I went to a couple of Adult book stores out in Buckhead where they had these quarter machines and once or twice I came close to going into one of the booths with a guy...but I didn't. Some asshole called Dolores and told her he'd seen me going into a gay bar."

"Did you go?" I asked.

"Yeah, I went. I just wanted to see what it was like being around a bunch of guys who were all gay. I lied to Dolores by telling her I was staking out the place for a possible drug bust. She bought my story at first...but then one day, I, stupidly, left one of my men's magazines by the toilet in my bathroom and when she went in there to clean, she found it and asked if I was reading it as a reference manual for my next sting...I couldn't lie my way out of it this time. I broke down and told her what I suspected of myself. I swore I had not been with a man...and believe me, Chris. I HAVEN'T! I swear to God I haven't!!". he said. He was crying tears now.

I didn't have any idea what to say to him. At first I thought he was joking...playing a trick on me that I would fall for and regret later when he broke out laughing. But this was no joke. He was dead serious. For years I had worked with gay models as well as lesbians and never had I been approached by one of them. Either the guys had known Carolyn or had heard about my marriage to her. They knew I was straight and if they wanted to get hired or keep their jobs, they knew better than try something with me...and now this...my high school chum suddenly telling me he had fantasies about me twenty-five years ago...I was at a loss for words to say the least.

"Isn't there somebody in the bureau you could talk with? Some psychiatrist or psychologist that you could trust with your secret until you found out the truth about yourself?"

"Mentally, at night, I ran through my list of friends, co-workers, and compatriots...unable to find one that I could even bring up the subject matter with. The only name that kept popping up...was yours." he said, still looking down at his plate.

"Why me?" I asked

"Oh for a number of reasons I guess. You've known me longer than anyone. It was you that I had my first crush on and since you never paid any attention to my advances, which you were apparently unaware of, I guess I felt safe being with you, telling you, and asking you for your advice." he answered.

"Christ, Doug, I don't know what to say to you. I can see you're in agony, worrying about this. Hell, if you'd told me you had cancer with only six months to live, I'd probably know how to talk with you about it...but this...this takes me by surprise. I'm no counsellor. Being a director, I deal with a lot of human emotions but nothing as personal as this..especially since I'm involved in your problem." I said, quietly, trying to ease his pain.

"How do you feel about gays?" he asked.

"I told you. I work with them every day...but when the work day is over, they go their way and I come home to mine."

"Have you ever had any gay ideations about yourself...even as a boy?" he asked.

"None that I can remember. You were about the closest buddy I had and you know we never tried anything that you read about teenage buddies doing together...like mutual masturbation and things like that. I can't recall us even discussing masturbation ever."

"Don't think it wasn't because I didn't want to. I used to dream about us doing it together. Over the years, I thought about it many more times."

"You mean about...us?" I asked.

"Yeah...now you can laugh and make all the jokes you want. I laid everything out on the table for you so you can throw me out of your house or tell me to fuck off and you never want to hear from me again." he said, defensively.

"Is that what you want me to do? Tell you to go away, that I want nothing to do with your problem? If that's what you think, then you don't know me as well as you thought you did...Let's talk it out and see if we can put our heads together and come up with some kind of solution...O.K.?"

"Would you hit me if I asked you if I could put my arms around you and hold you for a minute?" he asked.

"I wouldn't hit you...and yes, I'd let you hold me if I thought it would ease your pain." I said.

"Could I try it and see?" he asked, somberly.

"I suppose...Do you want me to stand up or just sit in my chair?"

"It would be easier if we both were standing, I guess."

I, nervously, but at the same time, calmly, folded my napkin and stood up, stepping back from the table to give him room to approach me. He stood and walked toward me slowly without looking directly into my eyes. He kept his gaze on the floor. We had hugged like long-lost friends at the airport in front of a crowd of people and thought nothing about it. But somehow, the intimacy of two men embracing in a house, alone, with no one to see, took on a different tone. We were both scared but for opposite reasons. As his arms went around me, I heard him inhale a nervous gasp, like a teenage boy holding his girl for the first time...not a thirty-eight year old manly GBI agent who had been married nearly half of his life.

The feeling was strange to me in another way. I realized I had not held anyone in my arms since Carolyn had left for Paris, the week of her death. I never thought I'd be holding a man in this manner, ever. It wasn't like hugging a total stranger, for I had known Doug since I was ten years old...but the strangeness of the situation made him become a stranger in my arms. I felt him relax at first, then his body tensed up as he pulled me closer into him. I was surprised by my automatic reaction as I put my arms firmer around him and held him closer to my body,

"Forgive me, Chris, but there's something I have to do." he said, as he quickly moved his head to face mine and he placed his lips solidly on mine. My first reaction was to back away, but I caught myself by thinking the damage my movement might do to his frail psyche. Hell, we were alone. No one would ever know. We were both consenting adults...well, maybe I wasn't quite as consenting as Doug, but I let his lips stay on mine until I thought he'd achieved his experiment. After a long moment, he broke away, but still held me in his embrace.

"Did I make you angry when I did that?" he asked,

"No. You surprised me though."

"Did it repulse you?" he asked.

"No, but it did seem different. I mean, after all, it was my first time to be kissed by a man." I said.

"It was my first time to ever kiss a man." he replied.

"Did you enjoy it? I mean, was it like you expected?" I asked.

"I enjoyed it and I'll always have the memory that you were the first guy I ever kissed...even though I used to kiss my pillow every night, pretending it was you." he said.

"You know, Doug, I still find it hard to believe that you had those feelings about me and I never once had an inkling you had them. I'm usually more perceptive than that."

"I guess the old adage is true...'what you don't know, dot, dot, dot,"

"Well, I didn't know...dot, dot, dot...Doug, please don't take this the wrong way, but while you've still got me locked tightly in your arms, would you like to kiss me again...or have you had enough for your first session?"

"If you're willing, I would like to kiss you one more time. I'm more relaxed now, knowing you're not going to have a tantrum and crack my head with a chair."

"Would you like a little tongue this time?", I kidded.

"Let's just wait and see what happens." he said, I realized I'd offered something in jest that he'd taken me up on seriously. I might've been in more trouble than I bargained for...I was..For this time, Doug kissed me more passionately than I had ever been kissed. I'd always played the man's role by being the aggressor, but suddenly in this play of role reversals, I was being kissed the way a woman feels because he was forcing his tongue between my lips and teeth and was running it all around in my mouth. He kept thrusting it in and withdrawing it quickly as if he were inviting my tongue to come visit his habitat. I finally obliged his offer and stuck my tongue into his mouth. Now I had assumed the role of aggressor and he was mine to let me do whatever I wished. How had things reversed so suddenly? I was now kissing him and, strangest of all, I was enjoying it. My God, was this the liquor making me behave so erratically? Or was I totally aware of what I was doing? My immediate fear was not knowing what to say after I had responded to him so overtly. I shouldn't make a joke, nor should I show disgust. I somehow had to cool things off between us before we went into surreptitious territories.

"Well, how was I as an appetizer? What I really mean is, are you ready to finish your dinner?" I asked.

"I guess I should thank you. Not many friends are that willing to help another in need." he said.

"I wouldn't say I was actually 'willing' but I didn't mind helping you out, if that's what I did. Did you learn anything by your experiment and was I any assistance to you?"

"I wish you wouldn't sound so clinical like we'd just performed some psychological test. In a way, I guess I was testing you as well as myself, to see how you would respond to my whims."

"Was I a disappointment or did I come close to meeting any of your expectations?" I asked.

"As I said, the first kiss was kinda scary, but the second one was quite different. You'll pardon me for saying this, but I felt you were actually 'getting into it'." he replied.

"I wouldn't say I was getting 'turned on'. I just thought it would be more beneficial if I responded a bit to give you a truer idea of what it would be like to have a male partner." I explained, (to myself as well as to him).

"I don't know what I thought I would prove to myself. It would have been too much to imagine my waltzing in here, taking you in my arms, kissing you, and suddenly discovering you'd suppressed the same feelings that I had all these years." he said.

I wanted him to open up further as I looked at him firmly and asked, "And what would have happened if you'd found out I felt the same way as you?"

"We'd've found ourselves in a hell of a mess...but a happy mess for me." he replied, smiling for the first time since we'd begun our "scene-playing".

"Doug, I don't know what else I can do to help you out. I hope my meager attempts of homosexuality aided you in learning more about your sexual identity." I said, as I sat down once more and began to cut my steak.

Doug took his seat, too, but didn't touch his food.

"If I were to ask you to go further with me, would you resist me?"

"You mean like doing something sexual? Like kids fooling around behind the barn when no one was looking?"

"Something like that..only more adult...not like kids." he said.

"Doug, let's be frank. Are you asking me to go to bed with you? Is that what you want from me? I mean, if I said 'yes', would that be the proof about yourself that you're looking for?" I asked. holding my breath, waiting for him to answer.

"Are you sure enough about your masculinity to sleep with me?"

"I have no doubts about my likes and dislikes. I've never thought about going to bed with a man...any man, but I'm sure if I had the guts to try, when it was all over, I would still prefer women over men and I wouldn't run to the phone and book a flight to Sweden to have a sex change. You think you MIGHT be gay. I know that I am straight." I announced.

"Well, if you're so sure about your manhood, what harm could there be in trying to help a friend find out about his manhood?" he asked.

"Doug, from what I know about gay life, it's not a question of who's more manly, As I said this afternoon, there is no human specimen more manly than body-builders with muscles stacked a mile high. I mean I've never seen a Mr.Universe who showed the slightest bit of femininity. It's just a matter of physical attraction...what turns a person 'on'. You said that I used to turn you on. I'm sorry I can reciprocate and tell you that you turned me on. You didn't in high school and you don't turn me on now." I said.

"I understand that and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. I wish to hell I did turn you on. All I'm asking is...would you be willing to try and let me see just how I feel. You're the only person I can turn to without running the risk of losing my job and reputation." he said.

"Doug, let me just say, that if I was willing to go to bed with you, I'd have to be a lot drunker than I am now. Then, when and if I sobered up, I would never be certain if I did anything with you or not." I told him.

"Good Lord, since you put it that way, let me fix you another drink," he said, halfway in jest.

"I know I told you my bar stayed well supplied, but I'm afraid there's not enough liquor in the entire house to get me THAT drunk." I joked.

"That's just as well. I wouldn't want to go to bed with you if you were drunk. I'd never be certain how serious your actions were."

"O.K. Let's stop beating around the bush and get our facts straight...sorry, I didn't mean it that way. If I WERE willing, would you be satisfied if I let you give me a blow-job? Or would you want more when you'd finished?"

"You make it sound like 'sex a-la-carte'. Just place an order for what I want and you'll see if you can deliver."

"Well, there should be some rules of limitation. I'm sorry if my way is not very romantic to you, but I just can't strip off all my clothes, lie down spread-eagle on my back and give you Carte Blanche over my whole body. There are certain things you might want to do that I would find disgusting or even painful...after all, I DID see you bring in two suitcases. For all I know, you may have one of them filled with leather whips and chains. I mean, you managed to kiss me. Who knows? An hour from now I may be tied up and beaten. You may have come prepared for this...and I was too stupid to see through your conniving scheme."

"You're cheapening this whole moment by making it sound like I had planned some sort of sordid tryst." he said.

I was afraid my pent-up anger was about to get the best of me. My patience for being the good host were wearing thin to a frazzle.

"Doug, I've just about had all of this bullshit I can take!"

With my announcement, I stood up at the table and picked up my plate of food and raked off the steak and potato on the floor. I set the empty platter in front of me once again and I began unbuckling my belt in a rage, I yanked at the top button on my pants and sent it flying halfway across the room, Next I unzipped my pants and let my trousers fall by gravity to below my knees, Then I pulled down my briefs to the middle of my thighs, grabbed my penis and scrotum, gave them a couple of yanks to loosen them from the tightness of being cramped by my briefs. Finally I leaned forward and plopped my whole package onto the empty plate before me. I looked at him for a facial reaction and said, "All right, if this is what you want, come and get it. I'm serving it to you on a platter. What more could you want!?". I waited to see if he was going to make a move and call my bluff, or get embarrassed and leave.

Doug sat there eyeing my offering while shifting his gaze to my eyes and then back and forth. He didn't know if I was being serious or condescending to his desire.

"Chris, you're making this very hard on me." he said.

Picking up on his wrong choice of a word, I took advantage of it to make a pun, "What? You said it's not hard enough for you? I can fix that...just give me a sec!" I reached down and began to massage myself until I got a nice big boner...large enough to impress any guy in any locker room. "Now, how's that? Hard enough for you?...Wanna come over and see how firm it is at the top or at the base. I can guarantee that it's genuine 100% prime meat, never before been touched by masculine hands since circumcision at the time of birth, thirty-eight years ago." I said, trying to imitate a carnival barker."

"Why are you doing this? Are you trying to shame me or make me feel bad?" he asked, nervously.

"Nope", I snapped. "I'm just trying to be your best pal and offer you what you want...free of charge...no strings attached...that is...if you're man enough to come and get it...Whaddya say, big boy? How bad do you want it?" I asked.

"I don't know whether I can trust you or not if I make a move..." he said, eyeing my crotch the whole time.

"Try me," I dared him.

Without taking his gaze away from my "package", he slowly stood up and moved toward me. I braced myself in case my friend suddenly went "postal" and grabbed a steak knife, I might have to change my last name to "Bobbitt". I could see his hand shaking slightly as he reached forward to wrap his fingers around my shaft pointing toward him. He, very cautiously, firmed his grip on me and began, ever so slowly, to stroke me back and forth. I'd've been a fool to say the novel experience wasn't very erotic and stimulating...because it was. It felt very good...almost electric with the vibes it was sending to the part of my brain controlling my sensory responses. Doug picked up on my excitement as the goose bumps forming on my arms became visible to both of us.

"Is this all right?...What I'm doing...?" he asked, almost sensually.

"Yes, goddammit, just don't stop!," I said, closing my eyes and leaning my head back to enjoy the sensation.

"I bet if that feels good...this'll feel better." he said, quietly, dropping to his knees and encircling the head of my erect penis with his warm, wet lips.

"Oh, Jesus!", was all I could say.

That was all he needed to hear to proceed with his venture. He became ravenous for my piece of raw meat with rapid torrential movements, all the while tugging at my scrotum with his right hand.

Never in my life...nor with any partner...had anything felt so good and so sensual. I didn't want it to stop...like a carousel or roller-coaster ride at a fair. At the same time, I wanted to punish my pleasurer by ramming my stiff member down his throat and listening to him gag and choke while I dumped about a cup of hot semen down his gullet, In a way, I hoped he DID choke and I'd have to call 911 and let the paramedics come and perform the Heimlich maneuver on him...let the EMS team wonder what just what kind of white sauce he had been eating on his steak as they did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on him. I wondered if the paramedic would recognize a familiarity of the flavor of Doug's saliva for I'd heard all kinds of rumors about gay paramedics. It was always amusing to see them in action for real. No matter what the emergency...it could be a broken finger or a scalp wound. the first thing they always do is take a pair of surgical scissors and cut off the man's pants so that they can get a good look at his crotch...before they assess the nature of the fractured pinkie or forefinger.

I couldn't decide whether to warn Doug how close I was to climaxing in his mouth or just give him the full treatment and satisfy both our yearnings..I wanted to cum and I knew that was his main objective, too...so with a simple sigh and whimper, I released all the sperm I had worked up into his eager mouth and throat. He swallowed every spurt I could muster with a vengeance. He'd waited over twenty-five years for this and was not about to let anything go to waste. My climax was so exhilarating while at the same time frightening, that I realized just how much I'd enjoyed having a man go down on me. Jesus Christ! How could I masquerade my emotions from Doug. He was fully aware of my pleasure and if I had chose to give him even more satisfaction, he might get the wrong impression that maybe he'd broken down one of my forbidden barriers.

He kept me in his mouth until he sensed my cardio and respiration rate had returned to a healthy rate. He didn't give a chance to speak or react as he swiftly stood, encased my facial cheeks in his hands and said. "You wanna see what you taste like? Wanna know the flavor I've been craving for over half my life?..Here...Why don't you see for yourself?" He planted his mouth on mine and slid his tongue between my lips, painting my tongue with the semenal residue. Maybe I hadn't had a normal puberty, I'd never tasted my own cum...nor anyone else's for that matter. The taste and the excitement of tasting it was both exotic and erotic as I became hungry for the fluid he was offering me. I began to lick his tongue and swallowing as quickly as I could. My reaction turned to passion as I put my arms around him, enveloping him in an embrace. When he felt I had my fill, he pulled away slightly and said..."Kinda appetizing, isn't it? Did you like it or were you putting on an act for me?".

"Shut up and kiss me again!" was my only response. He obliged and soon our arms were running all over, exploring the sacred untouched parts of our willing bodies. I was captivated by his movements and tried to mimic him with the same. I wasn't the least bit hesitant and I reached for his belt buckle in a rage to lower his trousers. I wanted to feel what he kept hidden from me. I don't know where this "hidden drive" in my psyche was coming from. All I knew was that I couldn't've stopped my actions, no matter how hard I tried. This was the first sexual contact I'd had with anyone since Carolyn's death. I never expected it to be with a member of the same sex...but suddenly the embarrassment and disgust were gone as my hand reached down and gripped him firmly in my hand. He trembled at my touch, caught his breath and plowed his tongue deeply into my mouth. He pulled away and whispered, "Wanna see for yourself what a thrill I just had?".

I don't know why I nodded my head "yes" but he placed one hand on each side of my face and guided my head downward until I was staring head on at something I'd never viewed before...a close up of an erect male organ. God, what a sight! It was like I was filming a documentary. I wanted to know everything there was to know about my visual object. I leaned forward and very unashamedly took him in my mouth. His cock was moist, stiff, and not at all repulsive as I had imagined. There was a slight whiff of perspiration coming from his patch of pubic hair, enhancing the excitement of my initiation. I didn't take time to wonder what the fuck I was doing. I only knew that I couldn't stop if I'd wanted to. I understood his hunger for my member because I felt the same way he had. I could seem to get enough of him in my mouth as I tried to put his tip farther and farther down my gullet. I wanted to be rough with him so he would cum quickly and let me be the first to taste him and see if he could produce the same sweet flavored substance that I had.

It was only a matter of a few short minutes when I felt his scrotum tightening and soon he was giving me all he'd saved up for some male mouth for over half his life. His emission was not as thick as mine and was somewhat saltier. Maybe there had been some urine mixed with it...who knows? I had nothing to judge it by...nor was I trying to judge it. I just wanted to give him the same pleasure he'd given me. I duplicated his motion and stood up to let him taste his own product. For some reason, he was not as eager to accept my offering as I had been. It was almost as if he was pushing me away with a slight refusal of my gift for him. He dropped his chin so that our lips couldn't touch.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know." he replied.

"Why didn't you let me kiss you? Weren't you anxious to see what you tasted like?"

"I know what I taste like. I've eaten my cum before. I suddenly didn't want to share the flavor of myself with someone else. It was kinda embarrassing."

He reached over to the table, got his napkin, and began to clean the excess semen off his penis. I just stood there and watched, anticipating what his next action might be. Did he want us to go to bed and do different things to each other all night? Was I brave enough to attempt anal intercourse if it were to be suggested....Maybe...An hour ago, the idea of male oral sex was taboo to my way of thinking...now I was almost eager to learn more and try most anything with my pal.

When he had totally cleaned himself, he reached down and pulled up his briefs and trousers, getting dressed once again.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm adjusting myself back to sanity." he said.

"What? What the fuck did you mean by that?" I said, in disbelief.

"I mean, I succeeded in finding out what I wanted and now that I know, I'm satisfied."

"You mean while you're ahead in the game, you'll pick up your toys and go home before I get my turn at bat?".

"You had your turn. I hope you enjoyed it." he quipped.

"Doug!...Buddy!...I thought this is what you wanted...I mean I practically prostituted myself for you...just to let you explore your sexuality...and now you just suddenly up and quit while I'm still standing here with my pants pulled down and every private part of me exposed.

"Oh yeah,,,that! Why don't you clean yourself and pull your pants up. You look funny standing like that at the dinner table."

I was so "thrown off gear" by his one-hundred-eighty-degree turn in attitude, I was suddenly at a loss for words.

"Thanks! I'll bathe completely later." I said as I gruffly pulled up my shorts and trousers.

"Do you mind if I use your phone?" he asked, very matter-of-factly.

"No, I don't mind. What are you doing? Gonna call your bureau and have me arrested for indecent exposure?"

"No, I would like to call a cab."

"Are you planning to go somewhere I couldn't take you in my car?" I asked.

"Only if you feel like driving all the way to Atlanta."

"Atlanta? Doug, what the fuck is going on? A few minutes ago, before you climaxed, I thought you were having delusions about you and me teaming up and maybe asking me if we could live together...and after all we went through and the personal sacrifices I made to try to please you the best I could...you now want to turn against me and leave," I snapped my fingers, "just like that...without an explanation?"

"You just said the keyword, Chris...'delusions'...that's all it was...adolescent delusions I've never outgrown. After I came and you were down on your knees doing me, realized just how idiotic this whole thing was. I've imagined these things all these years. Why, I'm no 'gayer' than you are. It just took that 'one time' to make me realize it. I chucked my marriage and almost ruined my career with a childhood whim or fantasy. I guess I ought to thank you for making me come to my senses about myself. How could I be so blind and so stupid...not to see what you could see about me? I've been living a fucking lie all my life and you'll never know how much you helped me."

"You're going back home to Dolores?"

"Yes...completely changed for the better, I think...thanks to you."

"It's a good thing I can control my impulses," I said. "because right now I have an urge to attack you and beat you all over this room. You made a complete fool of me...you tricked me into doing things way below my moral standards, all for the cause of your friendship...Doug, I'm goddamned angry...hurt...embarrassed...humiliated...wishing I had the courage to pick up a revolver and blow your brains out. I hope for your sake as well as mine that we don't ever meet again because if we do...I'm not sure what I'll do the next time I see you. Please don't bother to call me again or even contact me in any way, no matter how important it might be. From this moment forward. I don't know you and I don't want to know you. I wish to God there was some way I could erase your name and your memory and the details of tonight's episode from my mind forever."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, old boy. You ought to be grateful to me for showing you how right you are in being straight."

"Doug, would you please go get your bags and get the fuck out of my house before I do something I'll regret the rest of my life." I said as I gritted my teeth. I had never felt so defiled and angry.

"What about my call for a taxi?" he asked.

"There's a pay phone two blocks over on the boulevard. I think my phone just became 'out of order' PERMANENTLY to you."

"O.K., O.K...just give me time to get my bags."

I stood in the dining room feeling my rage and trying to curtail my desire to physically attack him.

I heard him as he returned from the bedroom carrying his two suitcases. I didn't look at him. I refused to ever look at him again.

I heard him click the handle on the front door to open it. He stopped and turned to say, "Thanks, buddy, for everything! Oh, by the way, the dinner was wonderful." He went out the door, closing it behind him.

I sat motionless at the table, playing each moment of the past hour over and over like a film I had put on a continuous loop. The evening's events had expanded my gamut of emotions beyond my expectations...from ecstasy to extreme hatred. Jesus! I felt I had been robbed and raped by a friend that had just disappeared, leaving no trace but an indelible stain on my entire person.

I looked at the bottle of scotch he had left on the table and reached for it. I poured myself a full tumbler right up to the brim and tried to drink the whole thing without removing the glass from my lips. Even though I coughed and sputtered, I achieved my goal and drank all of it. Once again, I filled the tumbler. The was the only way I could begin to forget what had just happened. Halfway through the second drink, I started to relax a bit. The first thing I decided was to call off my shoot for tomorrow. I would stay home all day and try to put my mind back in order. Tomorrow was Thursday. I had no appointments that I couldn't postpone or cancel. There was no one due to come by the house except the pool boy. Thursday was the day he came every week to vacuum the pool. He wouldn't bother me. He was a nice quiet kid in his early twenties who always seemed to keep to himself and never interrupt me if I happened to be home, the same time as he. He did his job and left sometimes without even saying goodbye.

It strange how you can look at someone without really seeing him. I knew his first name was Paul because I made a check out to him weekly for his pool services. I suppose I had noticed how he always wore the same cutoffs with no shirt. His tan was better than any model I used on my registry. His hair was bleached in streaks by the sun.

Apparently I had notice him more than I realized because in my mind I could visualize his nice smooth hairless chest with nicely shaped pectorals. His legs were bronzed with tiny golden hairs, I think...and his feet...his bare feet...they must be about a size eleven with a nice high arch.

How could I recall so many minute details about him? The crotch of his shorts was always tight and fully packed. I don't recall ever seeing him naked but I couldn't help but wonder was hiding behind his zipper. He was...an Adonis, for sure.

Maybe I could interest him in posing for me. He would certainly want to look his best for his screen test.Oil!.Body oil!...He would need oil applied to his entire body.

Without an assistant, I would have to oil him myself...rubbing my hands up and down his long muscular legs...and he would definitely need oil applied to his washboard abs. It would be so easy to accidentally have my hand slip down into his private region.

Why he wouldn't even be aware that the attention I was giving him was anything more than "professional".

As I sat there in my reverie I let my hand slip down between my legs as I hadn't bothered to zip my pants after Doug. For some reason, I wasn't surprised to find I had sprung another erection. I gripped my stiff rod and started pleasuring myself while I dreamed about what tomorrow would bring, sitting and waiting by the pool.

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