A New Start with an Old Friend

On the way there, Mac reminds me to not be surprised that Jonah has a kid. He had gotten his girlfriend pregnant right after high school.

We're in my car and I explain stick shift. Mac watches me work the clutch and the gears and says he's ready. He wants to drive us home later. As I drive, Mac places his left hand on top of my right hand as I shift. He's a little bigger than me and his hand envelopes mine. The warmth of his touches causes me to flush and I feel small beads of sweat prick at the back of my neck.

"I'm getting used to the feel," Mac explains.

"You do realize that you'll be using your right hand?"

"Right." He removes his left hand, puts it on my right shoulder and places his right hand on mine. He has to lean in to reach and I can feel his cool, minty breath on my right ear. A batch of goosebumps flashes on my right thigh and arm.

I say, "This will be better." I slip my hand out from underneath so his hand is directly on the stick shift. With my hand on top, I guide him through the gears. I can feel his veins against my palm. As we work the gears up and down, our fingers lace together. Mac watches my footwork as I orchestrate the trio of pedals. I hope he can't tell that his proximity is causing a bit of a swelling in my pants.

We get to Jonah's house and park in the long, narrow driveway. Mac and I climb out of the car and a sandy haired boy who looks to be about 9 appears from the back yard. He looks just like miniature version of the Jonah I remember. He's carrying a basketball. Of course he is. The kid dribbles towards us and stops a few feet away. He looks up to me and asks, "Are you Alex?"

I admit it.

He balances the ball between his hip and left arm and sticks his right hand out to me. "I'm Joe, nice to meet you."

Joe is a well-mannered and adorable young man. I shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you too Joe."

Joe takes two steps to his left and says, "So you must be Mac," offering him the same hand.

Mac shakes it too, "Indeed I am."

Joe asks Mac, "Do you play basketball?"

Mac offers the trademark Mac smile and Joe can't help but smile back. "I love basketball, Joe, but I was never on a team like your dad was."

Joe says, "That's okay. The team isn't for everyone. If you like basketball, playing for fun is way better than being on a team anyway."

I've known Joe for all of sixty seconds, but I really like him. Whether he'll ever know it or not, in the years ahead, he'll be the object of numerous secret crushes from lots of girls and probably a few boys too.

Joe, still talking to Mac, says, "My dad told me that the best shooter in his school was never on the team. Did you know that Alex is the best shooter my dad ever saw?"

Mac sighs, "It's really not fair, Joe. Alexander isn't a basketball player. He doesn't practice, he doesn't train. He is naturally good at something he has no business doing."

Joe giggles like Mac was kidding. The thing is, Mac is very competitive and hates losing. He's hamming it up for Joe, but he's only partly kidding.

Joe bounces me the ball and says, "I could use some pointers on my jump shot. Can you show me Alex?"

As much as he hates it, he loves it too. Mac has a huge shit-eating grin on his face. He takes his phone out of his pocket with his left hand and puts his right hand on Joe's shoulder, "Yes, Alexander. Please educate us."

Mac is enjoying himself way too much. He so doesn't deserve this right now but Joe does. I'm not going to turn down this polite, cute kid. From where we stand, the hoop is really far. Close to fifty feet. I tell Joe, "I'm doing this for you, Joe. Not him." I gesture toward Mac but his smile only gets goofier. I bend a little to get closer to Joe's level, "I have to tell you, Joe, I haven't shot or even touched a basketball since before you were born."

Joe's eyes bulge, "No way!"

"Way!" I bounce the ball a few times. It feels good in my hands. "Just for you, I'll give it a shot. Alright, where do want me?"

Joe starts walking closer to the hoop, but just then, Jonah appears from around the same corner that produced Joe a few minutes ago. Jonah tells his son, "Don't let him take a single step closer than where he is right now. He can make the shot from where he stands."

Joe actually jumps in the air, "Seriously?"

Jonah says, "For real. He knows he can do it. He's just being modest."

I haven't seen Jonah since high school graduation day. He looks very much the same as he did back then, which means he looks good. He might be the same weight, but a few of the pounds -- not many, but a few -- have transitioned from upper-body muscle to middle-body cushioning. It suits him. He looks happy. He looks like a dad. He winks at me and says, "Come on, Alex. Shoot it!"

I can't help but smile. I bounce the ball a couple more times and without thinking about it, I set my feet, jump and let a high-arcing, two-handed shot sail from my spot on the driveway. I hold my breath and we all follow the trajectory of the ball as it rises, peeks and falls, ultimately swishing through the hoop.

The three of them cheer and Joe's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head. He rushes me and gives me a leaping high-five. "Nothing but net!" he squeals.

As Joe tracks down the ball, Jonah steps over and gives me an enthusiastic handshake. "Hi Alex. You look exactly the same." His eyes sparkle.

I always wondered why people feel the need to comment on looks when reunited after many years. What if I thought he looked bad? Would I lie? Fortunately, it's a moot point because we all look great. I comply with the social norm and tell him, "You too."

He scoffs and pats his softening middle, "Not quite."

No, he's not as skinny as his high school days, but so what. Maybe 10 years from now he'll want to lose like 3 pounds, but right now, my former secret crush looks damn good. I say, "You don't need me to tell you this, but you've got a great kid there."

Jonah's smile expands to beaming and he shakes Mac's hand.

Joe reappears with the ball, "How about a little two-on-two?" He steps next to me, "I want to be on Alex's team."

Jonah says, "Well son, I don't know if our guests realized they'd be roped into a basketball game when they came here tonight. I'll tell you what. Go get washed up for dinner and we'll talk about it a little later."

Joe turns to me, "Even if we don't play a game, would you take a few more shots before you go? I want to record you and study the video."

Mac leans in close and says, "I'll be taking more videos as well."

I give Mac a playful shove. "I'd be happy to, Joe." I put a hand on his shoulder, "Just so you know, there's a reason I never joined the team. I stink on defense and I have rotten footwork. I can shoot, but I turn the ball over all day long. If you want to win, pick your dad. He can beat Mac and me with his eyes closed."

"I play with him every day," Joe says dismissively. "I don't care if I win. We don't even have to keep score. I just want you to shoot more. If you were on my team, I'd pass you the ball every time. Remember what I said about having fun?"

I can't say no to that kid. "All right Joe. You got it." Knowing Jonah was a forward in high school, I tell Joe, "But you have to take the front court, okay? You can teach me how to play down low."

His smile is exploding now, "Deal!" He flips the ball to his dad and dashes inside.

All three of us are left grinning in his wake.

~~

Mac drives us home. It's easy to forget that this is his first-time driving stick shift. He's a natural. It's actually kind of freaky how easily things just come to him. It's slightly annoying too. Irksome. A red light turns green and we jerk a little as he finds the clutch's release point. He'll smooth things out with a little more practice.

"Jonah has a nice little life set up there."

I say, "True dat."

Mac laughs, "Don't."

"What?"

"Just don't. There's a list of things you can't pull off. Add that to the list."

"I'll ignore dat," I say grinning.

"Wow. Didn't you ever learn you're not supposed to antagonize the driver?"

I laugh. "You're just grumpy because Joe and I kicked your ass in basketball."

"Don't make me pull this car over!"

I'm still laughing. "I sank teardrop after teardrop and all you could do was sit there and wipe away your own teardrops, watching my three-pointers rain down on you."

"You are so going to pay when we get home." He glances at me, unable to conceal his smile, "You do realize that I wasn't really guarding you, right? The kid wanted to see you shoot, so for his sake, I let you."

"Ooh...you 'let' me." I make air quotes around the word "let".

"Wow. If he had wanted to see me completely shut you down with dominating defense, believe me, he could have seen that show too. I would have been on you like glove. Like a cheap suit. You were basically playing HORSE alone in the open court."

"If that's what you have to tell yourself to be able to sleep tonight."

Mac just shakes his head. I've poked the bear.

~~

Back at the apartment, Mac hands me a beer.

He says, "You earned it."

I take the cold, drippy bottle, "When I mopped the floor with you playing basketball?"

His head drops like a marionette who's string was just cut. "I already told you I'd get you back when we got home. How bad do want to make it?"

"Maybe we should invite the neighbors over. I think I could use some witnesses."

"Or maybe my revenge will come in the fitness center tomorrow morning."

"No! Please! I'm sorry!" I plead, "I was just kidding. You heard me tell Joe that I have no ballhandling skills. You're crazy competitive and I was just teasing you. It was all a joke."

"That's more like it." He places his hand on my right leg above the knee and squeezes. I squeal and my leg kicks out. He grabs my ankle with his other hand and contemplates my captured, socked foot. "I accept your apology but you still deserve a small punishment."

His grip is strong and I can't pull free, though I admit I don't try too hard. He keeps ahold of my ankle and uses his other hand to stroke up and down the arch of my foot three times. I squirm as I stifle a scream. He releases me and I relax. Mac has no way of knowing this, but I am extremely ticklish. And not just my feet.

It's almost like he's reading my mind. He gets a maniacal look in his eye and suddenly he's on me. He has me on my back and he straddles me just below the waist. Mac is significantly stronger than me and he easily pins both of my wrists together in just his left hand and raises my arms high above my head.

I figure that telling him I'm ticklish will make this worse rather than better, so I say nothing as I twist and writhe under his weight.

With my arms way above my head, my shirt has ridden up to my ribcage and the full expanse of my stomach is exposed. I can feel the cool air of the room and Mac's eyes on my skin. It's like his eyes and round innie belly button are in a staring contest with each other.

He places his free right hand on my stomach and I inhale sharply. His big strong hand begins to examine my soft, innocent stretched out tummy, like he's checking fruit for ripeness. He prods, squeezes and pokes all around as I laugh and tears stream down my face. It tickles so much that I'm gasping for breath, afraid I might pass out. Next, he swipes back and forth across my lower abdomen, above the waistband of my shorts and I quiver from the sensation. I just barely manage to not scream.

Suddenly, Mac stops his attack. Like he just realized something. I am now horrified as I realize what he already realized -- I am rock hard and my erection is pressing against Mac's ass as he still straddles me.

He releases my hands and moves off me. Clearing his throat, he says, "That's enough punishment for today, but I hope you learned you lesson. Next time, I won't be so nice." He sips his beer, "Next time, the socks come off." He gives me a wink.

I think I hope there is a next time.

~~

Today, it hits me. The pain. Excruciating, blinding pain in my...everything. I've never been in a sauna, in a hot tub or had a massage but right now, I need all three. I pour myself out of bed and stumble into the hall, like a baby giraffe taking its first tentative steps.

Mac laughs when he sees me, "I thought today might be the day."

I glare at him, "Did you now?" I try to straighten, but I can't. "You did this to me." What the fuck? Even my eyebrows hurt.

"It's never the first day after a hard workout, it's always the second day." He's enjoying this.

"Mmm hmm. Right. It's also the first day after the last day."

"No, Alexander! Quitting is not an option. In a day or two, the pain will be gone and you'll be stronger than ever."

"I would punch you so hard right now, but I can't move my arm."

Mac chortles, "I bet you're thinking you want to take today off from working out."

My eyes widen, "Are you insane? 'Want' has nothing to do with it. I'll probably need help wiping my own ass later."

He barks out another laugh and hooks his arm around my shoulders. "If you think that's a real possibility, might I suggest fasting today? Or at least a liquid diet?"

I snort. "Fuck. Don't make me laugh. It's like a knife stabbing me everywhere."

He says, "The worst thing you can do today is to do nothing. Movement is key. Why do you think you weren't sore until after a night of still sleep?"

"I slept the previous night and was fine yesterday." I try to look at him, but I seriously can't turn my head. "You're just making this shit up as you go, aren't you? You don't know."

"I might have read something, somewhere, sometime."

"Uh huh."

"Let me take you out for breakfast. After that, we'll go for a walk on the Prairie Path. You can have one day off from the weights."

"You are too kind. Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

"You're just lucky, I guess."

He's still smiling at me, still enjoying this way too much. I can't help it. I smile back. I think I am lucky.

~~

We walk for several miles and I'm loosening up ever so slightly. When we get back to his apartment, Mac leads me to my room and tells me to lie face-down on my bed. It takes some effort but eventually, I do. He starts to massage my neck, shoulders and back. We didn't talk about this and I didn't ask for it, he's just doing it. He slips the shirt right off me and goes to work in earnest.

He works up and down both sides of my spine before moving on to my biceps and shoulders. Next, he works my thighs and his strong hands work lower, across my calves before finding their way inside of my socks. Then my socks are off and he's doing things to my feet that I never thought were possible. He's not tickling me, but my feet are like clay and he's a sculptor. I'm 28, but I've never been massaged before. Oh, have I been missing out, though I suspect that half the pleasure comes from knowing it's Mac doing these things to me.

Eventually, he tells me to flip over. Despite the bulge in my shorts, I do as I'm told. Mac works his way up from my feet, up my shins, rubs my knees, kneads at my thighs and his hands work their way higher inside the legs of my shorts. He's still not tickling me, but twice his finger tips graze my scrotum, causing me to gasp and flinch.

He then massages each arm from my hands up to my shoulders. Who knew that rubbing hands could feel so good? He finishes by lavishing attention on my chest and stomach. Again, no tickles, but he strokes and caresses my torso making my cock so tight in my shorts, I feel like I'll bust through like the Incredible Hulk.

The hurt has replaced by tingles and I know I couldn't suppress several embarrassing groans of pleasure.

When it's over, Mac walks out of my room without a word. I check my phone and realize that my straight friend Mac just spent more than 2 hours touching and caressing his gay friend in a very intimate fashion.

~~

I hate to admit it, but Mac was right. The next morning and I'm hardly sore at all. His massage and the million miles of walking we cured me. That was my first massage...ever. I had never been touched like that by anybody before in my life. His fingers, his hands and his arms were magical. He knew when and where to be rough and aggressive. He knew when and where to be tender and gentle.

Later that day, I meet my brother and his girlfriend for lunch. He asks me all about my first week back and tells me that his couch is still available if I change mind.

Aside from buying the first car I've ever owner, all I've done so far is spend time with and reconnect with Mac. As I update my brother, I realize that I can't stop smiling. The kid sees it too. He calls me on it.

I say, "There's nothing going on there. Mac is my friend. My best friend. My straight best friend." Right?

My brother's only reply is a cocked eyebrow.

In the parking lot, I show him my car. My brother is three years younger than me and gets a kick out rubbing that in. Yes, I'm still in my twenties, but I'm the butt of his old-man jokes, despite the fact that our older brother is 32. He tells me that my car is too cool for me and that between the sporty car, moving back home and being unemployed, it's obvious I'm going through a midlife crisis.

I'm about to argue that I've only been "unemployed" for less than two weeks and after a huge buyout that's allowing me to take some time off after not having a vacation in 5 years. I'm about to say all of that, but I notice the huge grin his face. He's just giving me shit like brothers do.

I give him a playful shove, then hug them both goodbye.

~~

That evening, Mac and I are in my car, headed to dinner. Since teaching him stick a couple days ago, Mac insists on driving everywhere we go together.

I watch my friend grip the gear shift and I'm jealous of my own car. In middle and high school, I focused on Mac the friend and pushed away all thoughts about Mac the cute guy. Having reconnected with him as an adult, I'm kind of crushing on him hard.

I tell him, "This is the most serious question of the day. Think carefully before you answer. Do you think this is a midlife-crisis car?"

Mac chuckles, "Is that what your bother said? You can do better than sixty. Let's call it a third-life-crisis."

"Rude."

He laughs, "Who cares? I love this car. Whether or not you bought it to prove something is just a matter of perception. I'm sure your brother was just giving you shit...like brothers do."

"You're right. I don't care what he says. But if you think I look like an idiot in this car, I-"

"You don't." We pull into the parking lot. "You're only 28. We're only 28. And look at you all baby-faced. You could pass for a college student. Call it a quarterlife-crisis."

I sigh, "But why is it a crisis at all? It's the first car I've ever owned. I just bought the car I wanted."

Mac sighs back, "It's not. I'm sorry. I just like seeing you squirm."

Echoing Mac from the other night I say, "I accept your apology, but you still deserve a small punishment."

"I look forward to your attempt."

~~

The restaurant is really nice. And pricey. Mac ordered an appetizer and I pop a shrimp thing in my mouth. It's exquisitely delicious. We each have glasses of both red and white wine. I am no sommelier, but I think I'm meant to sip the white wine with seafood. It goes down smooth and easy. I'm not a big wine drinker but it's probably the best wine I've ever had so I know it must be expensive. To my unsophisticated palate, wine can taste like paint thinner.

I say to Mac, "Please let me pay for dinner."

"I invited you. You're my guest tonight."

"I'm your guest every night."

He smiles, "And I couldn't be happier."

We each take another shrimp-guacamole-sweet potato appetizer thing. "I could just eat like a dozen of these. They're so freaking good."