Heart and Soul Chapter 1
I am excited to start a new book. Each one of my stories challenges me as an author. This is the first time I've written where the protagonist is of retirement age. It pushes me. I'm hoping you will like it.
While Emory was a secondary character in Coffee at 9 and Laramie, this is fully his story. It's not necessary to have read those previous stories to enjoy this one.
Email: timothylane414@gmail.com
B O O K N I N E
Heart and Soul
© by Timothy Lane
1
New Year's Eve
(The Day I Met Don)
I opened my eyes. Knowing I was facing the clock, I checked the time. 7:25 a.m. It had been half a year since I retired. My body still hadn't let me sleep late. Having set an alarm for 7 a.m. for decades, going too much past that wasn't in my brain's comfort zone.
Fine.
I could still lie here and not get up. It seemed cold. I curled into a ball under the heavy comforter. It seemed like it was snowing. Sometimes my body sensed these things. I craned my head toward the window. No snow. It must have just been extremely cold.
I wasn't a fan of snow. I loved it as a kid. At 65, not so much.
What day was it? Saturday?
Oh yeah. It was New Year's Eve. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I had told Zane and Enrique that I would attend their New Year's Eve party. They were old enough that I wasn't expecting anything scandalous or risqué. Not that the two of them couldn't still put on a racy party.
I sighed. "Fuck." I didn't want to go.
A shudder went through my body. I wanted to check the thermostat, but I refused to get out of the covers. I stayed curled into my ball.
Suddenly, I became aware of my dick. It had morning wood. That was a welcome surprise. Not that it mattered. I sighed again, remembering waking up with a hard-on almost every morning. Those were the days.
"Hello, Pedro."
My hand rubbed the outside of my underwear, enjoying the stiff rod confined within.
In a moment of boldness, I threw the comforter off and sat up. Propping the pillow behind me, I stared at the picture of Gene and me on the dresser.
I still missed him. It had been years since he had passed, but nothing had been the same since. Our friends had changed. Work life was now different — because I didn't work. My dick was the same. In the last year Gene was alive, "things" had changed in that regard. Gene was totally fine with my anatomy being unpredictable, because that's who he was. He was such a great man. I loved him so much. I never spent a day questioning or doubting if he loved me. I was so lucky to have met him. We were so perfect in bed. Intimacy with him was pure love ... always.
I closed my eyes and stuck my hand in my underwear. My long-sleeved T-shirt was keeping me warm enough. My fingers wrapped around my erection, and I began stroking my rigid flesh. Hell, if my penis was going to cooperate, I was going to take advantage of it.
At 8:12, the cum on my hand and underwear nudged me into getting out of bed, although, I was admittedly grateful for it being there. Even thoughts of Gene and our bodies wrapped together could still pleasingly get me off.
I started the shower and ripped my clothes off, tossing them into the hamper in the closet. I stared at my reflection.
"How did you get so old, Emory Pike?" I said to myself.
I looked at my dick hanging there, still a bit plump and enflamed.
"Hm. Don't write yourself off yet," I said aloud. "Right, Pedro?"
My anatomy didn't answer.
I always thought men who named their penises were idiots, but then I fell in love with a man who named mine.
The hot spray poured over my shoulders. I groaned in the bliss of its warmth.
The strawberries-and-cream shampoo was selected since a party was planned for the evening. What hair I still had smelled fruitfully fragrant. Gene always used to buy shower gels. I didn't give a damn how my body smelled, but he liked us to have nice things, simple as shower gel was. When the last of it was used following his death, I realized it was Gene's birthday. I went out and bought the scented liquids that day and have ever since. They help me remember him.
My armpits and ass crack smelled heavenly, not that anyone would ever notice that. But wherever Gene was, he would know.
Any remaining stickiness around my bush had been washed clean.
If I were going to be around people later, I decided to look my best.
I shaved around my gray goatee, making it defined. I checked my appearance in the mirror. I felt my face was groomed. Thankfully, the rest of the view would be covered in whatever party apparel I felt was as close to festive as I got. My thinning hair was just going to have to announce my age. Although I knew many men who lost their hair in their 40s. I guess I was at least lucky in that regard.
I put on an undershirt and pulled a KISS Farewell Tour sweatshirt on top of it, smiling that it was from 2000 and the band toured for more than two decades after that concert. A ragged pair of jeans would get me through the day. I would figure out what to wear to the party later.
A full pot of coffee was started. If I didn't drink it all, I'd have an iced coffee in the afternoon.
Saturdays were created to be lazy. The extent of my breakfast efforts would be toaster waffles.
By the time the noontime news came on, I hadn't accomplished much. I was dressed. That alone was a victory. I was pleased to hear that the temperature would at least reach the mid-40s this afternoon. The meteorologist said it would be below freezing at midnight, however.
Strangely, I wasn't hungry. Perhaps it was the hesitance to go to the party. Perhaps it was a stomach full of coffee.
I stepped into our ... my ... walk-in closet. I had no idea what to choose to wear for the party. As gay men went, I was probably the least fashionable of any of them. A suit was way too business like. I didn't own "party" clothes. I finally decided I wanted to be comfortable. I opted for my nicest black jeans and a gray sport coat. I pulled out a white mock turtleneck. Would that all work together? They were all neutrals, so nothing should clash.
I tried on the wardrobe. I looked in the dresser mirror. It was good enough for me. I didn't look pretentious, but I didn't look stuffy either.
The picture of Gene and me was right in front of me.
"This looks okay, right, G.?"
The framed picture didn't answer.
"You always liked this sport coat on me. We had some fun New Year's Eve parties, didn't we?"
The framed picture didn't answer.
I looked at him. "Fuck. I still miss you, G. I'd give my left arm for you to be there with me tonight."
At 2, the air outside had warmed enough that I bundled up in my sweatshirt and a heavy coat and took a walk. The blue sky was welcoming, even if the chill wasn't.
I knew there would be food at the party, but that wasn't until later. I walked past a corner bakery that offered great deli sandwiches around lunch time. They still had some left. I had it bagged to go and enjoyed it with an iced coffee at the house.
I didn't want to come off as the old codger that fell asleep at the party, so I took a quick afternoon nap. My body didn't adjust to me sleeping late in my retirement, but I had taken enough naps on the weekends that my brain turned off enough to drift away in the afternoons.
Once the evening rolled around, I couldn't put off the event any longer. Of course, I could just not show up; but I had no excuse for not going, and I didn't feel like concocting a lie to tell Zane and Enrigue. Besides, I liked them. I'd make the most of it.
By the time I arrived at their place around 8 o'clock, I was famished. I made sure to pack breath mints in my sport coat. Not that I'd be kissing anyone at midnight, but I didn't want to be "that guy" who warded off people with his breath. I didn't even know what food would be available.
About seven cars were noticeable as being a part of the gathering. I assumed more would be coming. I'm sure the younger set would party hop through several invitations. I wasn't that hip to be invited to multiple parties.
Enrique greeted me at the door. He kissed me on the cheek.
I had met Zane and Enrique through old friends of Gene's, Doug and Alayna. I noticed them in the kitchen, so I would at least know a few people.
After being welcomed by Enrique, I asked him how many people they were expecting.
"Oh, you know. Some will come and go. Maybe around 25 ... 30."
"Oh. Quite a turnout."
"We'll see," he said. He sauntered toward the kitchen with his arm swirling for me to follow. "Beer and wine are in the fridge. Cups here. Zane will whip up some margaritas once the food gets going in about an hour. If you are being conscientious about driving, we have bottled water and soda in the ice chest down here."
"Wow. Thanks."
It appeared I would be hungry for a short time longer.
Doug and Alayna noticed me and headed my way with big smiles.
"We haven't seen you since this summer, when you brought that handsome Cooper fellow with you," Alyana said.
"I know. But please know I am trying to get out more."
"Good. Good," said Doug.
"I think Gene would want me to."
"I wasn't going to say that out loud, but I think you're right," Alayna agreed.
"You look sharp, man," Doug said.
Neither of them was wearing party apparel. Doug just had on a sweater, and Alayna had on designer jeans and a floppy long-sleeved top.
"Well, I just didn't want to look like the old guy."
"As if," scoffed Doug. "Zane is only ten years younger than you; Enrique maybe twelve."
"Maybe in age but not maturity."
Alyana slapped me on the arm. "Play nice!"
"Em! Or! EE! How are you!?" Zane said, coming toward me with outstretched arms. He planted a kiss on my lips. That was so him.
Zane was in his signature skinny pants (not jeans this time). His shimmery gold top couldn't have been more gay, but it was festive for the evening.
"Food is coming soon, but help yourself to something to drink." He looked around. "Did you come alone? You could have brought that yummy Cooper fellow."
"He has plans with his son, but ... thank you. I'm fine on my own."
My visit with Cooper in the summer was interesting. He was quite sure he came off as a wet blanket, but my friends had liked him just fine.
Cooper was one of the best things to happen to me this past year. He was the first person to help coax me out of my shell following Gene. Of course, we only met because I accidentally flung coffee on him.
And there was no doubt that he was easy on the eyes. Yummy indeed. But not even 40. I shouldn't have thought of him that way.
More people arrived. At 9, Zane put out quite a spread. It had been delivered. On New Year's Eve, I was confident that cost a pretty penny. Enrique pulled out a few dishes from the oven, and there were some finger foods and dips.
My stomach was appeased, and I knew I would have enough to eat for the next three hours. Plus, it was good to have something in my stomach if I was going to drink.
How much was I going to drink? The Jackson Bend police were hyper vigilant on New Year's Eve. With good reason. I had only about a five-minute drive, but ... still.
I knew three other people at the party. We made casual chit chat. Two of them were of the "party hopping" crowd, and they headed on to another engagement at 10:30. The other one was in his late 20s. It didn't bother me that he preferred to visit with younger people there. I preferred he did too.
That left about sixteen other people I didn't know. Well, there was no "about." It was exactly sixteen because I counted. It was something to do with my time.
I thought it was nice that there was another straight couple there. I visited with them for about ten minutes, asking them how they knew our hosts.
I no longer needed to eat anything, but that didn't stop me. I snacked on some chips and Enrique's addictive taquitos. Even though they had been out of the oven for an hour, I still loved them. However, I needed to distance myself from the food. I grabbed another beer (my third) and stepped into the living room.
The gentlemen still had their Christmas tree up, so I glanced at its beauty for a moment. Zane and Enrique were the most NON-religious people I knew, and yet they had a gorgeous tree with a nativity at the base of it. I'm sure it was Enrique's. His family was always into religious holidays.
"Pretty tree," a voice behind me said.
"It is," I said, turning to see a well-dressed man behind me.
He was quite mature, but he had a full head of silver hair with a well-groomed beard. He was wearing a burgundy blazer with black slacks. A white shirt and black bow tie made him look quite dapper. A simple gold bracelet was around his wrist.
"Do you put up a tree yourself?"
"Me? Hell no. Not ... just for myself. I-" I stopped talking. I didn't want to bring up Gene just as I was meeting someone.
This new acquaintance just looked at me, allowing me to finish what I started saying.
I sighed. "I lost my partner a few years ago. He was the one who did most of the decorating. I hang a wreath on the door."
He smiled. "I'm sorry. I'm sure the holidays can be rough."
"No worse than the rest of the year. And please, I don't wish to be all gloomy or anything. I'm Emory," I said, extending my hand.
"Donald," he said, shaking it. "But, please, call me Don."
"You look incredibly sharp, Don."
"Why thank you. So do you."
"Pfff. I'm just trying for it not to be apparent that I'm the oldest one here."
"Well, that would be me," said Don.
"You look great." I smiled at him. "I'm retired. This year."
"As am I. I'm quite sure I have a few years on you. I'm 72."
"You win." I smiled. "You hold it very well."
"I thank you for the compliment."
"So how does someone like you know Zane and Enrique?"
"I was a professor at Drake University. Zane was one of my students decades ago."
"Zane graduated from college?!" I said with sarcasm.
Donald laughed. "Well, I can't confirm that, but he did pass my class. But I do believe he graduated."
We chuckled.
"Upon my retirement, I moved back to Jackson Bend. My mother was having major health issues. I felt the need to be near her in her final years."
"Commendable. And understandable."
"Zane and I bumped into each other at Target. I didn't recognize him, but he recognized me. He said I looked just the same. Can you imagine!!? My hair is gray."
"At least you have all of it. Be grateful."
"Almost. I have a spot starting in the back that concerns me."
"Well..." I said sarcastically, aiming my eyes at my own forehead.
Music was playing throughout the house. A techno version of Justin Timberlake's "Can't Stop the Feelin'" came on. Two young guests who looked to be in their 20s began dancing. Theatrically.
We watched them.
"Ah. Youth is wasted on the young," Donald casually said.
"It's so much easier for gay people nowadays."
Don turned to me. "But that's a good thing."
I nodded my head. "Agreed. We have made great strides."
"You're of an age to have remembered the AIDS crisis," he said.
"Oh yeah."
"Did you lose many friends?" Donald asked.
"Not really. But it's hard to say. I was in the Navy for much of it. It could have saved my life, to be honest."
"I lost three close friends. They were reckless. Still, I didn't love them any less. I visited them until their last days."
"Let's talk about brighter things," I said.
"Indeed. Any New Year's resolutions?"
"Not really. I never went all in on that type of thing. But I have made efforts to get out of my house more. Be more present, if you will. I'd like to keep doing that."
"Sounds like a good idea. This party tonight is the first time I've been out in months. I've let a sibling and a committee I'm on consume too much of my life."
The dancing duo became more flamboyant, partly because others around them were cheering them on.
"As much as I hate being old, I sure wouldn't want to go back to that," I observed.
Donald laughed. "I'm right there with you. Although, it is much easier to meet men today than when we were their age."
"Again. Strides."
"Do you remember your first?" he asked.
"First boyfriend or first sexual experience."
Donald laughed again. "They weren't the same?"
"Oh no. I was a sophomore."
"High school or college?"
"I suppose that depends upon what you count. Both."
"Explain."
"My first boyfriend was in high school. We didn't do much. We kissed a lot. If a handjob counts, then ... there was that."
"Okay."
"I don't even remember my first blowjob. Probably my senior year. But ... sophomore in college, I remember my first fuck."
Wes had locked the door. We knew our friends in the adjacent dorm room were out. We were at the end of the hall, so no one was on the other side. We didn't plan on being loud, but we didn't plan on anything really. We were so insanely nervous.
But we knew tonight was the right night. My roommate was gone, and numerous people on our floor had headed home for Thanksgiving. Wes and I were staying one more night. This was part of the reason.
"Think we have everything we need?" he softly asked.
"We each have a dick, right?"
"You know what I mean," he scolded.
I laughed. "We're being safe. We both have condoms. We have lube. We're good."
Wes and I had been seeing each other for three weeks. We had stared at each other for months during Accounting I. Finally, after stealing so many glances, he had the courage to walk up to me. We hit it off immediately. By that night, we were making out. The next day, we started having oral sex when we could fit it in. This was the night we wanted to take things to another level.
"I'm happy you are my first time," he said to me.
"I was thinking the same thing."
We kissed.
Carefully, he began to unbutton my long-sleeved shirt. I watched his fingers manipulate my clothing. I was excited and scared and unsure. He spread my shirt open and moved it off my shoulders. It dropped to the floor.
We kissed again. In his kiss, he ran his fingers through the chest hair that I loved, which had grown in once I turned 19.
I moved my fingers under his sweater and T-shirt and lifted them over his head and arms at the same time.
We kissed again.
My left hand touched his chest as we kissed. My right hand drifted down to his jeans. I could feel that he was already hard, and I rubbed the engorged bulge with my fingers. He breathed heavily into our kiss.
He balled his hand into a fist, tugging on some of my chest hair. Then that fist went down my abdomen. Eventually, he found the protrusion in my own jeans. We just rubbed each other for a minute, kissing.
His hand then unfastened my fly. Once unzipped, he reached in to find my cock. My hard cock. My aching cock. My waiting cock.
I did the same. I groped his rod. I loved Wes' thick six inches, but I was scared what it would feel like inside me. Would it be different for him because he was cut and I wasn't? In some ways, all the questions made me feel as though we weren't ready.
We dropped our jeans and briefs. We were naked except for our socks, which we left on.
I pulled him into my bed. Our mouths became sloppy. Kissing, delightfully sloppy. Our tongues roamed, gloriously sloppy. Wes was on top of me, grinding his erection into my hip.
He lifted up and looked at me. "How do we ...?"
I stared at him.
"I mean," he continued. "Do you ... or me ... how do we ... decide?"
"Do you have a preference?"
"I have no idea," he answered. "I've never done it."
"I'd kind of like to do both. Think we can?"
"Why not?"
"We just need to make sure we don't come right away. From what I've heard, once you come, you don't want it in you."
"Do you think that's true?"
"I have no idea. I've never done it!' he reiterated.
We laughed.
Then we got quiet. We stared into each other's eyes. There was such a connection in our look. In that moment, I questioned if it was love. But we were too soon in our relationship to go that far. But I knew it wasn't just horniness. Wes meant a lot to me.
"I think you should go first," he said to me.
"Okay."
I suddenly felt like I was in fifth grade. I didn't know what to do ... how to start ... how to even feel. I was nervous.
"Uhh ... I guess I should put the condom on." I felt embarrassed by stating the obvious.
I reached for the condom and fumbled trying to open the package. I dropped it onto the bed.
"Fuck. I'm so nervous," I grumbled.
"Hey," he softly said to me. "Don't be. We're doing this together. We'll figure it all out. I'm just glad I'm with you, Emory."
My lips pressed against his.
"You always know how to say the right thing. I just want to be ... good ... for you."
"I'm not expecting a porn star. I'm expecting Emory, the person I chose to do this with."
"I'm glad I'm doing this with you." I turned to the condom. I breathed in. "Okay."
I got the package to tear. I pulled out the condom and examined it from both sides. With a little deductive reasoning, I figured out which way to roll it on.
"How does it feel?" Wes asked.
"I don't know. Snug, I guess."
"I do believe that's the idea."
I giggled.
"I don't think I just stick it in. That's supposed to hurt."
"Yeah. Let's get me ready."
Wes spread his legs and lifted his hole the best he could. I put some lube on my fingers. I wasn't sure about sticking them in someone's ass. As horny as I was, it was still a little strange. But I could tell from the fragrance of his crotch that he had recently showered. I knew he was clean.
When my pointer finger went inside him, Wes gasped.
"Is it okay?"
"Yeah. It is." He took a breath. "Move it around."
I did.
"Try two fingers," he said after a minute.
He breathed out in almost a whistle when two fingers entered him.
"You okay?"
"Very much so."
I probed. I watched Wes close his eyes and acclimate to the sensations.
Then he opened them and looked at me. "You should fuck me, Emory."
I was petrified. And enthusiastic. Everything was so new, I almost felt like somebody completely different.
Wes pulled back his knees again. I put lube on the condom. I was terrified. I wanted to be good at this.
I placed my cock at his hole. I moved forward and it went down his crack instead of inside him.
"Damn."
"Don't rush. We have all night."
"Let's hope it doesn't take me all night," I groaned.
"Try again."
I felt inside his hole again. I put the head of my dick right there. Carefully, I moved forward. I knew the head went in."
"Oooo!" he called out.
"Is it okay?"
Wes stared at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Slow."
I was. I moved a millimeter at a time. But, a minute later I was in. ALL in.
"Oh. My. God."
"How does it feel?" he asked.
"Like my dick pushed into heaven. How about you?"
"I – I like it. Push a little harder."
For three minutes, a 19- and 20-year-old breathed heavily and moaned softly as they learned to fuck. We didn't want anyone in the hallway to hear us.
"I better stop, Wes."
"Does it not feel good?"
"It feels amazing. I think I'm getting too close. I better stop."
"Okay."
I took my cock out of him.
"Let's switch," I said.
I watched Wes yank on his erection, making sure it was fully hard. He was so much thicker than me. I was certain it was going to hurt, but I wanted to do this. I wanted to be a gay man. A gay man should be able to take it. Gay men loved being fucked.
He went through the steps to get the condom on his own anatomy. His dick looked like an encased sausage stretched inside. I lay on my back and lifted my legs. He got lube and fingered my hole getting me ready.
"This is kind of weird," he said.
"I know. But your fingers feel good in me. I hope that's a good sign. Keep working my hole open."
His two fingers felt very good. I liked the idea of being penetrated.
Then I saw him slick up his thick rod ready to impale me.
"Go slow," I found myself whimpering.
I pulled back; my hole was exposed.
Wes went in on the first try, and he went in too far.
"OW!"
I watched his face twist in horror. He pulled out.
"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"It – it just didn't feel good. It was ... too fast."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Let's try again."
We tried again.
No matter what, I was going to make it work.
Ever so slowly, Wes moved inside me. My body tensed. I didn't like it. I was being invaded. I grabbed my sheets in a fist and bit down on the cloth. I closed my eyes, willing myself to take it.
"Emory, breathe. Breathe," he coached.
I took a deep breath. It hurt a little less, but I wanted him out of me more than anything.
Wes fucked me for a minute, but he knew I wasn't enjoying it.
"I'm going to stop."
"You sure?" I said, so incredibly grateful that he was going to stop.
"Yeah. You can be back inside me."
A minute later, we changed places again. We both liked it that way. I decided I would probably be a top for the rest of my life. And I felt terrible that I wasn't good enough.
We fucked. We both looked at each other.
"This really feels good," he said.
"For me too. I like being in you."
"I like you fucking me."
We smiled.
This time I lasted only two minutes.
"Fuck. I'm too close."
We stopped.
"I have an idea. This time, lie on your stomach," he said.
"Think that will be better?"
"It might."
I rolled over. Wes put his entire body weight on me.
"Too much?"
"Actually, I like you on top of me like that."
He cuddled me from above. We were quiet.
Then he fingered my hole. First with one — easy. Two fingers were still nice.
"I'm going to try to get three in there."
That sounded easier than it probably was. After trying for several seconds, he got three fingers in. Somehow. My body lurched.
"Relax, baby."
I exhaled deeply to let all the tension leave me.
A minute later, his cock was in me. His body weight somehow comforted me.
"Keep breathing. Keep breathing," he softly whispered in my ear.
"I am."
"How does it feel?"
"Not great ... but it doesn't hurt."
"Okay. Keep breathing with me."
For thirty seconds, we breathed in and out together. He started pushing his thick sausage into me more firmly.
"Wes?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm okay."
"It feels okay?"
"Fuck me, baby."
He moved his arms under me and thrust his groin into my waiting ass. We were sealed tight.
"Fuck me," I whispered.
"I love it, baby."
"Fuck me," I said louder, foolishly.
"It feels so good, Emory. I love fucking you."
"Fuck me."
His cock rubbed in and out of my hole. A tight seal around his thick pole made squishing sounds.
"Oh, fuck! Oh. Ohhhhhhhh fuuuuuuccccckkkkk."
Wes collapsed on me again.
"You came, didn't you?"
"I did. Fuck."
"Hey. We got there. We both enjoyed it," I said.
"Did you, really?"
"I did. I got there."
"But I wanted you to fuck me again."
"You still want to try?"
"I guess."
When I fingered his hole, I asked if it still felt okay.
"I guess. A little different."
My cock was hard and ready and shiny. I moved inside him.
"Want me to stop?"
"No. I – I think I'm fine."
I thrust in and out of him. I moaned louder than I had previously. We hadn't heard anyone in the hall. Hopefully no one could hear me.
I sensed Wes wasn't enjoying it as much as he had previously, but he stayed with me. He placed his hands on my ass.
"I love it inside you, Wes. I love it, baby."
"Yeah. Do me."
This time I lasted three and a half minutes.
"I'm coming now. I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm coming. Unnnnnnnggggggh."
After my orgasm, I took a deep breath. We smiled at each other.
"Well," I started. "Mission accomplished, I suppose."
I moved to his side.
"I would imagine most gay men would have thought we were terrible at fucking," I orally reviewed our performance.
"It was our first time. So, what if we didn't last a half hour."
We were flat on our backs, but we turned to each other.
"I'm so glad it was with you, Wes. I'll never forget it."
"Me neither. I'll remember you forever, Emory."
"Gracious! `First fuck.' That was a little blunt for me to say. I'm sorry," I said.
"I'm a 72-year-old gay man, Emory. I've certainly heard worse."
"But I do remember that night." I sighed. "So long ago."
"Well, I didn't admit to being gay until I was 29. Apparently, feeling other guys' cocks and looking at gay males any chance I had didn't seem to make it apparent enough. That was my first time to go all the way. I was teaching high school. It was with another teacher, believe it or not."
"When did you start teaching at Drake?"
"When I was 35. I taught there all the way until I was in my late 50s. The last seven years I was overseeing the library. On occasion, I would still teach one course — or fill in for someone if they needed to take a short leave."
"Nice gig."
"I suppose. When you get older, you tend to look down on the younger generation for any reason. Clothes. Cell phones. Constant texting. Vaping."
"Don't get me started on that," I said.
Zane handed the two of us a margarita. I didn't really need more alcohol. I looked at the clock. It was already 11:30. Where had the time gone? I hadn't realized Don and I had talked as long as we had. I was really enjoying his company.
"If I'm going to drink more, I probably should put more food in me. Follow me to the chip bowl."
Donald laughed.
We stood at the kitchen counter, looking over what remained and grazed on food we both knew we didn't need to eat.
"After tonight, I suppose watching calories would be a good resolution for me," he said.
I laughed.
"I think you'll be fine. You look pretty great."
He looked into my eyes. "Thanks. I know you are being polite. I have a bit of a belly."
And that was it. Our stare connected us to a higher level. It wasn't just enjoying conversation. It was enjoying each other. I knew I liked him.
It was good to feel this way. And it was terrible to feel this way. It was scary to feel this way.
I thought about Gene; I didn't know how to feel about another man. My fleeting summer crush on Cooper was an obvious stupid flirtation. Don was my age. It hurt me to think about ... daring to like somebody. But that was what was happening.
"Excuse me," I said.
I walked to the bathroom. I washed my face in the mirror. Staring at my wet reflection, I asked the question. "Gene, I don't know what to do. You know that I've never stopped loving you, right? I will forever."
My eyes watered and a tear went down my cheek. I brushed it away with the back of my hand. I washed my eyes again. A hand towel dried my face.
I took a deep breath.
I didn't know what to do. My thoughts were in severe conflict. I dried my face off and went back to the living room.
Donald handed me my margarita when I returned. My heart kind of fluttered seeing him again. And felt guilty.
We made small talk, and I somehow detected that Don felt something was different with me. Because it was.
I was too old for all this shit.
"Hey everyone, I know it's cold, but I want us all to do something," Zane announced. "It's five minutes to midnight, and I want us to sparkle outside."
"What does that mean?" Doug yelled out.
"You'll see. Grab your coats."
More than twenty people followed our hosts outside.
It was three minutes to midnight when Zane handed everyone a sparkler from a package. Tiki torches had been lit on the patio for anyone who had to come out and smoke during the evening.
We all held our nonsparkling object. Zane stared at his watch.
"One minute! Everyone light your sparkler."
As quickly as possible, everyone touched their sparkler to a tiki torch. Within seconds, everyone was crackling and sizzling, writing lines and shapes and the new year in the air in gold sparks. Laughter filled the backyard. Don and I smiled at each other, feeling like schoolchildren playing with sparkling penmanship.
"Here we go!" Zane started the count. "Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ... three ... two ... one!"
"Happy New Year!" everyone screamed. Those who still had a sparkler ignited wrote the words Happy New Year in the air.
Those that were a couple kissed each other. A few others kissed as well. Don turned to me. He leaned in and so did I. We gave a quick kiss. As we pulled back, we smiled at each other.
"Happy New Year, Emory," he softly said.
"Back at you."
We hugged, listening to our sparklers give off their final crackles behind our backs.
The chill got to everyone a few minutes into the new year, and the group moved back inside.
"There's still plenty of food and drink. No one needs to feel rushed out," Enrique said.
Donald looked at me. "Alas, I do have to head out. I have to be up at 8, so ..."
"It was nice meeting you, Don," I said.
"Likewise. Very much so."
We hugged once again. Before we could totally release, Don kissed my cheek.
"I'll start my goodbyes."
And he began to move toward our hosts.
—
Forty minutes later, I was on my knees in front of my dresser. I had on pajama bottoms, but no shirt. I stared at the picture of Gene and me. My arms were folded on the dresser.
"Well, I made it home safely, Gene."
The framed picture just stared back.
"Am I crazy, G.? Is it stupid to feel anything at my age? Am I just assuming things? Are you mad at me? You know I still love you with all my heart."
The picture just stared back.
"Damn, I wish you could talk to me."
As I turned out the light, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, I realized it was a new year. Was it time to start something new? If moving on meant leaving Gene behind, could I do that? Would Gene want me to? I had so many conflicting emotions.
But I liked Don.
Don who I didn't even know his last name. Or his phone number.
I thought about our kiss. It was simple. A New Year's Eve midnight kiss.
But it was so nice.
So was he.
Don.
I fixated on our kiss.
Thinking about Don made me hard. I didn't always get hard. Sadly, I didn't get hard very often. But I was in the moment.
Don.
Don made me hard.
I felt my cock.
I rubbed my cock.
I stroked my cock.
And stroked.
And stroked.
And stroked.
And stroked.
And stroked.
When the cum eventually hit my belly, I realized I was smiling as I panted.
"Thanks, Don."
Pedro began to deflate until the flesh of my penis drooped in some cum.
Happy New Year.
—
It was January 8. Cooper and I had been having coffee at Joe — the only coffeeshop I'd ever patronize (forget Starbucks) — for several months now. I wasn't sure if I should tell him about Don. It was our first Sunday morning of the new year.
As I questioned sharing with him., he unloaded on me. Cooper had been struggling for the past weeks. He had gotten himself into a love triangle with two men. I knew he had torn himself apart over it. Suddenly, my simple questions regarding Don seemed inconsequential. I just listened to my friend, because that was what he needed. Thankfully, he had made his decision — one I liked — and he seemed to have his life steered in the right direction. I offered my support.
Cooper had helped me move on (a little) past Gene. I had needed a confidant and someone with whom I could just be social.
"It hasn't been quite a year, but our coffee at 9 has been something I've come to count on. It's a nice constant in my life, you know?" he said to me.
"I do. Last year you were heartbroken and floundering, not `fitting into the gay world,'" I said using air quotes. "I'm not sure I had moved past Gene much. Your friendship ... our friendship ... it has been a blessing."
"Amen." He patted me on the wrist.
It had been two weeks since we had seen each other. I told him about some other friends I had connected with over the holidays. He was happy to hear that. I then became very quiet. I sipped my coffee and would then just stare at it. Brad stopped by and topped it off. I didn't acknowledge his presence. I just stared down. Brad looked at Cooper. They were perplexed by my quietness and deep expression. Brad moved on.
"Cooper," I started. "How old do you think is too old to consider starting up something?"
"Do you mean romantically?"
"Yeah."
"125. Why do you ask?"
I rolled my eyes at his answer. "I just ... I might ... well..." I stopped, trying to figure out how to put my anxieties into words. "The thing is, I was at this New Year's Eve party with Zane and Enrique. I was introduced to ... a man. Donald. Don. We really hit it off. I don't know. There was kind of an attraction there. We did kiss at midnight. Nothing passionate, but it was ... `in the moment.'"
"Nice."
"Yeah." I paused. "It was." Then my gaze returned to his. "It has been so long since Gene passed. I just feel it is too late for me to, you know, start over."
"Why?"
"Well, Don is even older, 72. I ... I just don't know if it is worth pursuing. It just seems ... I don't know, silly. Don't you think?"
"Of course not. Everyone has the right to be happy. If seeing someone would make you happy, why hesitate? Do you think he would be interested?"
"I sort of picked up on that."
"Em, don't let your mind trip you up."
"Well, the mind isn't the only thing," I said, looking away for a moment. "At my age, some other things don't always want to work."
I knew Cooper reflected on our unusual moment last summer. "It worked fine when we did it," he said.
"Yeah. You're a gorgeous blond in his late 30s. You're kind of better than a pill."
He laughed out loud.
"Emory. Is sex really the be all end all? Isn't someone's company infinitely more important than the trivial physical stuff?"
"Well, I wouldn't say trivial. You know, eventually you want to ... get there."
"And you'll find your way to being affectionate and tender together. If that is where it goes. Don't let it talk yourself out of doing something that could be nice and wonderful. Just see where it goes."
"We'll see. Next topic."
He reminded me of his two-year chip at his next AA meeting on Wednesday. I said again that I would be there.
I sometimes forgot that Cooper was an alcoholic. The past year had been so hard for him. A broken marriage, trying to be a good father, one shattered relationship and an unexpected romance — it was tough. Good for him for maintaining his sobriety.
We had become good friends. Close. It still humiliated me that I developed a schoolgirl crush on him. Thankfully he waved that off once we got past it. Dear lord, the man is more than 25 years younger than me. How could I have been so naïve? Yet, Cooper clearly was the most handsome friend I ever had. I was pleased he accepted an old fogey like me as a close friend.
But was I worth being more than a friend? Just trying to start over with Don scared the hell out of me.
Cooper and I walked out to our cars together when we were finished with coffee.
"So, do you think you'll call him?" Cooper asked.
"I didn't get his number."
"Emory Pike!! What's the matter with you?"
"Eh. I can get it from Zane. You know. If I decide to pursue this."
We got into our cars.
"Am I too old to pursue ... something new?" I asked the emptiness of my vehicle.
* * * *
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As mentioned in the intro, Emory has appeared in other stories. If interested, you can find out more at my blog: timothylane414stories.blogspot.com
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