19th Hole

"That's the last thing I need."

"It's exactly what you need. Five hot guys in swimming trunks is way better than spending the day on a pity pot here alone."

"Hunter, this is all very sweet of you. But, I think I can take it from here."

"I know you think you can. You're a nice little island, aren't you? You know, you have never spoken to anyone in the bar, but me. Never. That's a bad way to be. And, I don't have my car with me, so you have to run me home. Since you'll be out, you may as well make a day of it."

I was not looking forward to this. Missouri float trips are hillbilly hootenannies. It's like Deliverance. The only thing more alarming than those you meet on the river are those you meet along it, the "river rats" who live on stilted houses in the flood plain that scream of deprivation and poverty.

But, I also was emotionally and physically spent. I did not have the energy to argue or resist.

The other four were already at Hunter's building when we got there. Hunter's building, by the way, was the nicest building in the trendy Central West End. Either bartending paid better than I thought, Hunter was hustling, or he came from a lot of money. I kinda hoped he was hustling.

Bennett, Eddie, Mark, and Travis were all varsity LAX players for Wash U. They were all in shape, good-looking, and had flow. But, Hunter was the best of the bunch. By far.

As we drove out of town in Hunter's Land Rover, I felt like a father taking his sons out for a day. Hunter must have sensed my unease.

"This is awesome," he said. "Bennett was a last minute add and was going to have to ride middle in someone else's canoe. Now, he can ride with Travis, and I'll ride with you. Evens are way better than odds for a float."

I learned a lot as we drove. They boys all came from old St. Louis money and had been friends since before any of them could remember. St. Louis is a city of private streets and private schools, and they came from the best of both. They starred at Country Day School in LAX and vowed to play together in college. Hunter had to go to Wash U because his family basically funded and ran the place. So, they all went to Wash U to stick together.

Their trust funds meant they didn't have to, but they were all excelling in their own right. Hunter was majoring in biology and planned to stay at Wash U for medical school. The rest would finally scatter for graduate school, ending the "one for all, all for one" cohesive run of what their family and friends simply referred to as "The Boys."

There was a chasm between being a 22 year old college senior and a 40 year old lawyer. The Boys drank Busch and smoked pot all day. And, I mean, all day. It was a slow float.

I had to work the next day. I drank little, and I didn't smoke at all. Mostly, I just watched The Boys guys frolic in the water, give each other shit, and show off for whomever was watching at that moment. I felt silly (and old) being there, but it was good to be out and not thinking (much) about Kyle.

I drove home. I don't know who'd have driven if I hadn't been there, as none of them were in shape to.

The Boys slept as I drove. My mind wandered to Kyle in the quiet of the car. As the sadness showed in my eyes, Hunter woke up, looked at me, and said, "Now, we'll have none of that" in a coy voice that made me smile.

Once we had unloaded the car, The Boys all headed their separate ways. Hunter invited me in for a college dinner ("you know, a frozen pizza or a burger or something"). I tried to decline, claiming I needed to get home.

"Going back to your empty home is the last thing you need," Hunter said as he led me by the arm toward his door. Inside, Hunter opened a bottle of 1986 Krug Cabernet (didn't all college seniors have an expansive wine collection?) and proceeded to his rooftop hot tub to "wash the river off us."

The wine made me sleepy, and I yawned. Hunter suggested I nap while he pulled dinner together. I offered that I should just get going, and Hunter insisted I wasn't going anywhere. We changed into dry shorts. I had no underwear to hold me in place, and I was immediately self-conscious.

Hunter was getting pretty good at reading my face. "Don't worry about that," he said.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked.

"Jesus, Michael, it's all The Boys talked about all day. Travis wondered if your whole body is a life support system for your dick. Bennett bet you pass out when you get hard, from lack of blood to your brain."

I dozed off on his sofa. I woke to a well-made table, another bottle of Krug, and Hozier's "Take Me To Church."

Hunter was in the kitchen, still wearing only yellow board shorts. He was obviously not a weightlifter. His tone and definition were from LAX only. Still, he was stunning, and my dick stirred as I watched him dance and sing along to the music.

We talked little as we ate. Every time I made eye contact with Hunter, he smiled at me.

As we cleared the plates, he announced, "You know you're spending the night, right?"

I furrowed my brow as he continued, "We've had two bottles of wine, I'm about to open another, and not being alone is good for you right now. Plus, last night was the best night of sleep I've had in a long time. I sleep way better when I sleep with someone."

I knew pretending to resist was pointless. One, I had done everything Hunter wanted me to do all day. Two, no self-respecting single 40 year old gay man turns down spending the night with a hot college LAX player.

We finished the third bottle of wine on Hunter's living room floor. After clearing the glasses, Hunter immediately made it clear our long day was not nearly over. He returned to the living room without his board shorts.

"I think it's time we fool around," he said.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He stood with his 6 inch dick in my face. All the hair on him, except that on his head, was neatly trimmed.

If I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly. So, I stood up, put my arms around him, and kissed him long and hard on the mouth. We made out hungrily, like teenagers. He untied my shorts, and I stepped out of them without breaking the kiss. Our bodies touched from mouth to groin.

When the kiss broke, he insisted I take him to bed. Upstairs, he laid flat on his back, and I straddled him and kissed him some more. I had forgotten how much fun it was to kiss.

I hadn't had sex in over a year, and I felt like a teenaged boy going for his first roll in the hay. I devoured Hunter's body, kissing and licking every inch that I could reach.

When I couldn't wait any longer, I took his dick into my mouth and swallowed it. I should have savored it and edged him, but I was too needy. He came fast and hard, and I drank all of him.

I apologized when I pulled off his dick. "Nothing to apologize for. That was awesome. I like hungry sex. Speaking of which, I want you to fuck me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I don't have a condom."

"I do," he said as he opened his bed stand drawer. It was packed with an array condoms and lube and other toys. He tossed me a magnum. "If that doesn't fit, we'll have to use a grocery bag," he said, laughing.

It fit. I straddled Hunter and slowly slid into him. He purred as I did.

"Let me know if I hurt you," I said.

"You won't."

I wanted to fuck him slowly, but he wouldn't let me. No matter how fast and hard I went, he demanded I go faster and harder. I was on the edge of losing control when he came again, splattering cum all over his stomach and chest. The sight of his orgasm brought mine, and I filled the condom with my own load. I pulled out, lowered my face to his torso, and licked all of the cum I could off of him.

I collapsed to the side of him. "That was fantastic," he said, as he gently rolled the condom off me, and insisted we clean up.

Hunter fucked me in the shower. There was no way I could come again, but there was no stopping him. He was like a rabbit. I wanted to be 22 again.

The 19th Hole

(Part Nine; From Michael's POV)

When we were settled into bed to sleep, Hunter asked if he could tell me something without me getting mad. I said sure.

"The Boys bet me today that I couldn't take whatever it was that you were swinging."

"You talked to them about that?"

"Sure."

"So, they all know you're gay."

"Sure. We've been friends forever. They know everything about me."

"Are any of them gay?"

"Nah. We all did some gay shit when we were teens, but I'm the only one it stuck to."

"Does your family know?" I asked. Hunter's family was a prominent one in Republican politics, both in Missouri and nationally.

"Of course," he said, matter of factly. The 18 years between my birth and his included a cultural revolution that made his reality so much different from mine.

We sat quietly for a bit, then I asked, "Did you have this whole thing planned?"

"Yeah. Sure. I thought someone would break your heart, you'd come into my bar to try to stitch it back together with a bottle of gin, fall apart in a room of strangers, and then allow me to help you home where I could prey upon your weakness and convince you to fuck me. My crystal ball is that fucking clear." He smiled as he said it.

"You should put it to better use." I smiled back.

"Seriously, I've been flirting with you for the two years you've been coming into my bar. At first, I didn't think you were gay. Then, I didn't think you were anything. You talked to no one but me, and you barely talked to me. I tried like hell to get you to take me home, but you seemed like you had no idea what I as up to. . . . Your density or obtuseness or whatever it was pissed me off. I talked about my frustration to The Boys, so they were surprised when you showed up with me today for the float. We were all surprised when you climbed out of the water in your board shorts. They hid nothing. The Boys told me there was no way I could take it, and I assured them I could. I'm not a whore or anything, but I know my capabilities."

"You did take it."

"Barely. You're going to ruin me for everyone else."

"I hope so," I said, carelessly. I was not usually careless.

"Me, too," he said, carefully and smiling.

Hunter slept soundly. I did not. I was in tumult. I had gone from despondence to elation in 24 hours. I was on a wild roller coaster, and my constitution was made for the merry-go-round. I needed to see my therapist. Fast.

I left before he woke up. It was characteristic of me. The morning after is always awkward, so I try like hell to avoid it.

I wrote on Hunter's bathroom mirror with a bar of soap: "Thank U. Great day. Better night. XOXO, Michael." It was an uncharacteristically informal and open message for me.

*****

I was in my therapist's office for two hours over lunch on Monday. I explained to her all that had happened in the past two days.

She was not helpful. As for Michael, she told me my plan to try to stay in touch with him was a foolish, self-destructive one. She assured me it would be hard on him and harder on me, the equivalent or ripping fresh stitches out each time I realized he was with Turner and not with me.

As for Hunter, she told me there was a reason the lines were longer for roller coasters than for merry-go-rounds; she pointed out how many times in our 5 years together I had talked about what I could not have; and she assured me the road I insisted on traveling - refusing to give myself to anyone who might actually take me - was a prescription for a lifetime of heartache and loneliness. It didn't have to be, but it likely was. Finally, she told me that I might consider thinking of reasons things might work with Hunter rather than listing all the reasons why I was sure they couldn't and wouldn't.

I left her office angry. I felt like she defaulted to the same pat advice each and every time we met, always urging me to focus on the positives rather than the negatives (I was sick to death of her "glass half full versus half empty" tripe). As I look back, I realize there was a reason for her constant advice; I needed it, but wouldn't heed it. Despite all I had achieved, I remained the pensive boy in a rural Missouri trailer waiting for things to go wrong, because they always did.

I couldn't go back to work. Instead, I drove to Forest Park and walked the trail around the perimeter, taking an honest inventory of where I was and what I wanted from life. I had always been looking toward the future, toward a time when drunken parents and a trailer were visible only in my rearview mirror, toward a time when I was making real money and not living the meager life of a student, toward a time when whomever I was with realized I was their destiny and not an interlude in their otherwise straight life. I had never lived for today, for the here and now, for the life that was right in front of me.

I also had never tried to give myself to someone who could have me. I am sure it was some fucked up avoidance or defense mechanism; open yourself only to one who was not open to you.

By the end of my walk, I was desperate to see Hunter. I'd like to claim I had an epiphany during my walk, but that would be trite and untrue. I was just lonely.

I'd have texted him, but I realized I had no contact information for him. I decided to drive to his condo. If he wasn't home, I'd wait for him.

I stopped and bought flowers on the way. I had never given anyone flowers before.

Hunter was, in fact, not home when I got to his door. I turned on music, leaned back on his steps, and turned my face to the sun. I loved the feeling of sun soaking into my skin.

I was in another world when Hunter opened the door behind me.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you."

"It's the middle of the afternoon. Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Nope. I should be right here." I handed Hunter the flowers. The sun and the wait had not been good for them; they were a little wilted. He looked at them quizzically.

"They'd have been a more romantic gesture about an hour ago," I offered, semi-apologetically.

"I've never received flowers before."

"I've never given flowers before."

"You look hot."

"Thank you."

Hunter laughed to himself. "Well, that too. But, I meant, hot as in temperature. You're soaked with sweat."

He was right. I'd gotten so lost in my thoughts, I hadn't realized I had sweated through my shirt and part of my grey poplin suit.

I followed Hunter into his condo. He dropped the flowers on the table, latched the door behind me, and pinned me to the door with a deep, open mouthed kiss. I held his face while his hands worked my tie, my belt, my shirt, and my zipper.

Hunter broke the kiss so he could rip his shirt over his head, tug his jeans off, and step out of his boxer briefs. While he did, I slipped my shoes off, stepped out of my slacks, and pulled off my jacket and shirt.

Hunter lowered himself and took me in his mouth. He knew what he was doing, working me in and out and around while he played with my balls and rubbed my stomach. I was so turned on by him, I could easily come. I told him so.

"You keep that up, and I'm gonna come."

He pulled off my dick long enough to say, "I want you to come." I did almost as soon as he went back to work, filling his mouth and his throat. When I was finished, Hunter kissed his way up my body and then shared my cum with me, the first "snowball" I had ever received.

As we kissed, I took him in my hand and started jerking him. He came quickly all over my stomach and crotch. I wiped some up with my hand, and held it out to him.

"Turnabout is fair play," I said. He licked some of his cum from my fingers. I finished off what he missed.

We went to his bedroom. We spent the rest of that Monday kissing and sucking and fucking and sleeping and waking up and kissing and sucking and fucking all over again. We left the bed only to get wine and cheese and rinse the cum and sweat off our bodies.

Six hours into our marathon, I was sitting against Hunter's headboard, his head on my shoulder and his hand wandering through my chest, stomach, and pubic hair. I was spent. He was re-tooling.

I looked down at him, and he turned his face toward mine.

"You came along at just the right time," I said.

"What do you mean? I've been right in front of you for two years."

"I was blind."

"Nope. You just weren't ready."

"You're right. I am now, though."

"I'm glad."

I wasn't sure I was, in fact, ready. But, I was going to try to be.

****

Paper is the traditional gift for a one year anniversary, so I gave Hunter a vintage edition of Grey's Anatomy. He gave me a ticket for a weekend in San Francisco. It was his favorite city, and I had never been.

A lot had happened in the year. When things got tough, I tried to pull back. Hunter wouldn't let me. He was patient and kind. I tried to convince myself I deserved him. But, I continued to doubt that I did.

When I tried to erect obstacles, Hunter knocked them down. I met Hunter's family, and Hunter's obvious happiness helped them overcome their resistance to our age difference. They didn't care at all that Hunter was gay.

I moved to Hunter's condo. I had spent most of my time there since what we now called "Marathon Monday." After about six months, Hunter convinced me to sell my condo, make a balloon payment on my outstanding student loans, and make formal what was informal.

I did not become one of The Boys, but they put up with my intrusion into their circle more than I expected. I made the mistake of telling them one too many stories about life in the boot heel, and they now called me Meat. I didn't mind. It was obviously a term of affection, not derision.

I was anxious about how little I brought to the table. I had no family and almost no friends. Still a government employee, I had little money.

Hunter didn't mind. He said he had enough family and money for the both of us, and that we'd make friends together.

I was also anxious about our age difference. But, Hunter definitely made me younger than I was. With him, I slowly freed myself from whatever it was that made me old when I was young. With him, I was getting younger as I got older.

I had a long way to go emotionally. But, for the first time since I started seeing her, my therapist seemed optimistic. And, finally, so did I.

As Hunter and I walked the Wharf holding hands, I had no idea how long the ride would last. But, I was glad to be on it. And, for the first time since I could remember, I was not worried there was no more track over the next rise.

Epilogue

Happily settled with Hunter, I decided to reach out to Kyle and apologize for how poorly I had handled meeting Turner. I had been surprised, and I had not handled the surprise well.

I tracked Kyle down and wrote him a brief note:

Kyle,

I must apologize for the way I reacted last Summer when you and your family visited. I was surprised you were married to a man, and I did not react well to the surprise.

I am happy that you have found your way and someone to accompany you on it. As I reflect, that I am not that person is almost certainly on me. I could and should have reached out to you after I left. I chose not to do that, and choices have consequences. In this instance, it cost me at least a friend, if not more.

It was, after all the time that has passed, great seeing you and meeting your children (especially my namesake). If you are ever back this way, I'd love to see you. In the meantime, endless happiness to you and yours.

Yours,

Michael

I was surprised to receive a reply within a few weeks. It read only: "Thank you for the note. Turner's gone, but the kids are still here. Would love to see you soon. Would love to talk to you sooner." He included his mobile number.

"Turner's gone" rattled around in my head. I wanted to call Kyle, but I knew I shouldn't. Still . . . .