And Here’s to You, Mr. Robinson

Author's Note: I want to take a moment to thank my volunteer editor - Neuroparenthetical. This story is the twentieth piece he has edited for me. He is always thoughtful, supportive, and diligent in how he approaches the process of offering feedback and suggestions. Thank you so much for all of your continued assistance, Neuroparenthetical.

"It was a story about love... love that transcended definition. So often, love is pigeonholed into just one of the narrow categories of lust, platonic friendship, or romance. The relationship between Jude and Willem depicted a love without limits. It was transformative in nature."

"It only had to be 'transformative' because Jude was never shown as being anything more than a victim. It isn't a story about 'love,' it's a story about trauma."

"Why can't it be both? Can't people who've lived through trauma experience love? Surely, you don't think that their experiences make them incapable of such a basic human experience."

"That's not what I was saying. I was arguing that it would be better if Jude's agency is what moves the story forwards, rather than him needing another man's love to 'heal' him."

I was starting to space out as Kitty and Angela battled for the title of most pretentious housewife with an English degree from the Seven Sisters. I'd been a member of the neighborhood book club for three years, and it had always been that way between them.

The charcuterie board positioned on the coffee table was still holding up well, though the brie had been the first thing to go. Nobody needed another cocktail; that would have been my perfect excuse to go to the kitchen for a short reprieve.

As if some lesser god had been listening to my prayers, the front door pushed open. I heard my son, Nate, along with a few other boys, talking about a party they were planning to attend. They were giddy with the joy that comes with being a few weeks away from graduating high school.

I felt proud of the fact that he was graduating at all. Whereas most of the other parents had taken it for granted, we had struggled. My ex-husband and I had adopted Nate when he was ten years old; our families had told us it was insane for two guys in their late twenties to adopt a child his age. They had all wanted us to try for an infant; alas, that wasn't in the cards for us.

Nate had always been a sweet kid, but he struggled academically. With tutoring and counseling, he'd been able to get the support he'd needed to pass his classes. To be honest, I think that participating in sports had given him more motivation to not give up than anything else had.

"Howdy, Pops!" Nate yelled as he turned the corner.

The members of the book club stopped chattering as my son and his three friends came into view. They appeared to be a little sweaty; the well-worn basketball under Jonah's arm told the story. Teen boy musk quickly started to fill the room, overpowering the Chanel No. 5 that had been lingering in the air.

"Hey, son," I replied. "We're just having that book club meeting I told you about. Did you need anything from me?"

Part of me wished he'd say "yes" so I'd get the excuse I'd been looking for earlier. He paused for a moment, as if he was processing my question like it had much higher stakes than I had intended.

"No, I think we're good. I'm just going to take the guys back into the kitchen. We're going to raid the fridge to see if we can find anything good. Then we might cool down in the pool."

"Sounds good. Let me know if you need any help finding anything."

As my attention reluctantly returned to my guests, I couldn't help but notice that the five women who had just been discussing what constituted 'trauma porn' were ogling a group of young guys who'd only turned eighteen in the last few months. I was the only man in the club -- what a nice, gay privilege, right? -- and I was about ten years younger than the rest of them.

I chuckled to myself. Even when I had been younger, I'd never been into twinks. I'd gone through a phase where I'd been one, but I'd never been attracted to them. Most of my son's friends fell squarely in that category.

Jonah, Nate's best friend, who was standing by his side, had a baby face and a lean body: twink. Carlos was standing behind him. I'd seen them play water polo together. I mean, he shaved his skinny legs: twink. I didn't recognize the last boy in the group. He was whispering in Carlos's ear while a mischievous grin spread across his face.

The boys began to walk towards the kitchen - well, most of them. My son, Jonah, and Carlos charged ahead, while the mysterious figure ambled towards our group. He looked different than my son's other friends. There was no other way to phrase it, but he looked like a 'real' man. Sure, a young man but a man nonetheless.

The assembled subset of the D.A.R. was transfixed as he approached. He stood about six foot three and had a muscular build. I knew from looking at him that he must have spent more time at the gym than studying for his AP exams. His biceps were bigger than mine, although I had never been a gym bunny. I wondered who he knew from our group; it wasn't impossible that one of the women was an aunt or a close friend of his mother.

"Mrs. Langford," he said making eye contact with Kitty. "What a nice surprise."

Kitty blushed; she grasped her book close to her Dior-clad bosom. Even though she was pushing fifty, she had the glow of a high school cheerleader being approached by the captain of the football team.

"It's lovely to see you, Cooper. How is your mother doing? It's been far too long since we've gotten together. I think I last saw her at the gala for the youth orchestra."

Cooper? Cooper? Cooper! Oh fuck, that's little Cooper Crestwood? I could see it all of a sudden. He had the same piercing green eyes and half-cocked grin. He must have sprouted six inches and put on thirty pounds of muscle since I'd last interacted with him. I couldn't recall when it had been, but it most certainly hadn't been longer than a year.

"She's doing well," he said before taking a long pause. "Wow! Just... wow!"

Kitty laughed bemusedly as Cooper's smile beamed at her with an intensity hot enough to melt butter. She resituated herself on the plush sofa, taking care to never uncross her ankles.

"I just can't believe how much you look like Holly," he gushed. "You two are practically twins. Every time I see you, I can't help but notice it."

I felt myself suppressing a smile. Holly was Kitty's twenty-one-year-old daughter who was studying at Barnard. She had always reminded me a bit of a young Audrey Hepburn; Kitty, on the other hand, looked more like a middle-aged Katharine Hepburn.

"Cooper Crestwood! You are too much! The words just drip from your mouth like your tongue is covered in honey."

"No, I swear. I think it every time I see you. I'm mean, if I was a few years older..."

"Cooper!" Kitty giggled; the other women followed suit, vicariously soaking up that special feeling: a man young enough to be their son stroking their ego. Kitty took a long sip from her martini.

"All of you look amazing. I feel like I've just stumbled into some sorority girls' social gathering."

Cooper's eyes sparkled as he took stock of their reactions. Lilian couldn't look directly at him; Emma's face had turned rosy. With perfect timing, Cooper lifted the bottom of his tank top, using it to wipe a smattering of sweat from his cheek.

Emma and Angela gasped ever-so-slightly. Kitty spilled a few drops from her glass onto her skirt, which she attempted to quickly blot with a napkin. Cooper held his pose for a moment too long, giving all of the women a view of his taut, muscular six-pack abs before covering himself again.

"Well, I'll leave you lovely ladies -- oh, lovely ladies and Mr. Robinson -- to get back to whatever it is that you were doing."

Cooper almost bounded out of the room. I couldn't help but notice his nylon shorts framing his firm, well-muscled ass as he exited. I hadn't been purposefully looking; it was just where my eyes had wandered. As Cooper turned the corner, I could swear that his gaze met mine for the briefest moment; he knew that I'd been watching him leave just as surely as the women had been.

Cooper Crestwood: Jock? Hunk? Young stud? Himbo? I wasn't entirely certain, but he most definitely wasn't a twink.

The rest of the meeting seemed to go by in a whirlwind. The conversation kept shifting away from the book to memories of college and idle gossip. Cooper's comment about the sorority gathering had been prescient.

I could hear the boys playing some video games from the den. I guessed that they'd decided that they preferred that over the pool. I'd personally never understood the appeal of shooting zombies, regardless of what age I'd been.

After the ladies left, I began to clear the leftover food and take the empty glasses to the kitchen. I'd just finished bringing in the last of the canapes when I heard someone walking up behind me. I spun around on my heels; Cooper was reclining against the countertop a few feet away with his elbows perched on the white quartz surface.

He was smiling at me; his eyes had that same sparkle they'd held earlier. I felt my heart skip a beat. I waited for him to say something - anything. He just stared.

"Did you want something to eat?" I asked. "There are plenty of leftovers. You're more than welcome to help yourself to some stuffed mushrooms or bruschetta."

"God, I haven't seen you in forever," Cooper said. "Sorry about the divorce."

I was taken aback. Most of the adults in my social circle didn't talk about the topic unless I brought it up first. It was some kind of unspoken agreement.

"Well, these things happen," I said as I placed some dishes into the sink.

I could hear Cooper walking towards me. He sidled up next to me at the sink. I felt his body emanating heat as the hair on our bare forearms grazed one another. I stared into the sink as he stared at me.

"I think he's an idiot. I mean, he must be an idiot if he thinks he's going to do any better than you."

I chuckled; it was flattering to some extent, but I didn't need his reassurance the same way the women from the book club needed his flattery. I continued to scrub some pâté off of one of the small china plates.

"Don't laugh, Mr. R. I'm being serious here. If we're comparing you and the other Mr. Robinson, you're the clear winner."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. In hindsight, I think that made him feel more compelled to make his case.

"Your ex... my dad... all the other older guys don't seem to care about their bodies. I can tell that you keep it tight, though. I mean, look at these guns."

Cooper squeezed my right bicep, pushing up the sleeve of my Polo shirt as he did; I startled a little feeling his hand connect with my skin. I instinctively flexed; Cooper's smirk re-emerged.

"You have it going on, Mr. R. I'm sure that if you went to a club, you could pick up any guy you wanted - even the ones half your age."

Cooper removed his hand and took a step back. I peered over his shoulder to see him taking stock of my body. I was in shape; I tried to run every day, and lift weights a few times a week. I used exercise as a way to release stress.

"I mean, damn! I'm sure there'd be lots of guys my age lining up for you. You got cake for days, Mr. R! I'm not gay myself, but I can appreciate a guy who puts in the work."

I began to turn bright red. I spun around to face him; it was also partly to position my ass so it was out of his view.

"Cooper, you don't have to do this," I said. "I don't need my ego stroked by one of my son's friends."

"I'm not stroking anything. I'm just telling it like it is."

We both gazed at one another for a moment; it was a stalemate of sorts. We were each waiting for the other to be the first to break eye contact. Cooper pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe non-existent sweat from his face; it must have been his secret weapon. After seeing that act earlier, I knew what he was doing, and I wasn't going to give him what he wanted.

"Why don't you go back to the den and join the others?" I said.

Cooper slowly dropped his shirt. He looked disappointed, but there was something else in his expression that I couldn't quite pinpoint. Is he excited? I asked myself. Is he enjoying this?

I turned back to the sink and listened to him walk away. I had to resist the urge to look over my shoulder; a part of me wanted to watch his juicy peach bounce as he left the room, but I was better than that.

A little while later, I was trying to ignore the bass that was rattling the windows as I focused on wrapping up some work stuff that I wanted done before the weekend was over. I had always been a bit of a workaholic; it was the rare weekend when I wasn't on my laptop for at least a few hours.

"Mr. R?" I heard a voice call from down the hall. It only took me a moment to recognize it as Cooper's baritone.

I stopped writing mid-sentence and walked towards his beckoning call. I could hear him moving around through the closed door of the guest bathroom.

"Yes. Did you need something, Cooper?"

"I was just hoping to get your opinion."

The door slowly started to open. My throat went dry; I wasn't sure what was about to happen, but I already knew that I couldn't prepare myself for it. A swath of fair, peach-colored flesh came into view. It was Cooper's youthful skin, and there was a lot of it showing.

Cooper stood there in what was possibly the world's skimpiest neon blue Speedo. My heart began to race; I stopped breathing for a few seconds. I scanned his near-prefect, eighteen-year-old body. His massive pecs were devoid of hair; his small pink nipples were perky from the air conditioning; his defined abs looked rock hard; a small trail of hair led from just below his belly button down into the top of the Speedo.

I began to breathe again. I frantically looked up to meet Cooper's gaze. He had the beaming grin of the cat that had just eaten the canary.

"Yes, um, yes. What did you need, Cooper?"

"Nate said that I could borrow any pair of trunks to use from the guest bathroom. I just wanted to make sure it was okay to wear this pair."

"Any pair is fine," I said as I began to retreat.

"Wait!"

Ignoring every rational thought in my mind, I slowly turned back towards him. He was chewing on his lower lip; it felt like he was preparing to devour me. A part of me wanted to let him do it, even if I knew it was just a game for him.

"They're not too revealing, are they?" he asked, nodding down at his crotch.

Fuck! Holy fuck! Is this kid part horse? I suddenly felt light-headed as I processed what I was seeing. The neon blue fabric was struggling to conceal what must have been seven inches of meaty cock cradled against his hip. The weight of his fat rod was causing the Speedo to pull away from his body the slightest bit. I could see the top of his well-groomed brown pubic hair emerging through the gap.

I was transfixed; my mind went blank. I hadn't seen a cock like that in at least five years -- back when I'd had a threesome with my ex and stranger that had been blessed with a rod the size of Cooper's.

"Mr. R? Earth to Mr. R?" Cooper was chuckling; if I'd been in my right mind, the words 'smarmy little shit' probably would've been running through it - though of course 'little' would've been figurative in every sense.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I redirected my gaze towards his eyes. They still looked like he knew something I didn't

"I, um, I..."

"I know it doesn't leave a lot to the imagination, but it's not like you can see more than the general outline, right?"

Cooper grabbed the base of his dick through the fabric of the Speedo, causing it to more firmly cling to his shaft. I looked down again; I couldn't help myself. I could see the outline of where his cock head met the shaft. I had managed to learn that Cooper was cut, in spite of the fact that he was wearing a Speedo.

My mouth was practically hanging open. It had been so long since I'd milked a huge load from a massive dick with my lips. My ex had fallen firmly in the six-inch club. It was as if I was dickmatized; I wasn't even registering that it was connected to one of my son's friends.

"Don't start drooling, Mr. R," Cooper chided before letting go of his grasp.

God, I felt so fucking stupid. I'd let him get the better of me. I could tell how much he was enjoying watching me get worked up over his body, but Cooper didn't have all the power. I knew what it was like to be eighteen, since I'd been there myself. I had a few tricks of my own up my sleeve.

"It looks good, Cooper," I said flatly. "Doesn't offer a lot in the way of sun protection though. Why don't you let me lather you up before you join the others by the pool?"

Cooper didn't understand what I was doing. He thought that I was so enraptured that I was just looking for an excuse to touch him. I imagine that he must have liked that idea.

"Okay," he grinned.

I grabbed a bottle of sunscreen from the medicine cabinet. I squirted a larger dollop into the palm of my hand.

"Turn around so I can start with your back."

Cooper spun around, facing the opposite wall. His broad shoulders and narrow waist were the perfect ratio. I gently applied the lotion across the top of his shoulders before gradually moving my way down. His skin felt warm below my palms; I could smell the musk in his dried sweat as it mixed together with the mildly coconut-scented sunscreen.

After finishing his back, I leaned down to massage the lotion into the back of his thighs. They were dense, bulky tree trunks. I soon reached my hands around and began to rub the front of them as well. I wasn't going to jump to the big-ticket items right away; I was taking my time.

Once I finished his legs, I pressed my chest into his back. He didn't budge; I'd half expected him to at least jump at little. I wondered if maybe I'd misjudged him. I let my fingers dance across his abs. They felt amazingly defined beneath my tickling touch. My hand traveled upwards to his pecks. I carefully caressed his already hard nipples, using the pads of my middle fingers to stimulate them.

For an ephemeral moment, Cooper pecs twitched, and he seemed like he was going to pull away. That would have been enough for me to regain some semblance of dignity and stop in my tracks, but he didn't end up moving after all. I had been certain that a straight eighteen-year-old would be thrown off-balance by some light nipple play. I knew I needed to go further.

"Just a few more areas," I said. "It's important to be thorough."

"Uh-huh," Cooper replied, sounding a little tentative.

I moved my hands to the back of his upper thighs again. I stared at his firm, peachy ass stretching the Speedo fabric; they left the bottoms of his cheeks uncovered. I used my thumbs to knead the sunscreen into his exposed skin. I even slid the very edges of my fingers beneath the fabric.

Cooper didn't move or speak, but I was certain that his breathing had become shallower. I knew that I was gaining ground; I even suspected I'd already won the battle, though I couldn't be certain.

I slid my palms between his thighs; as I coated them with sun protection, I let the sides of my hands graze against his nuts every so often. I could feel Cooper shifting his weight. I knew it shouldn't have, but it turned me on to see him squirm.

I left one hand caressing his inner thighs and moved the other to his lower abs. I used it to journey downward. I began to trace his happy trail with my slick fingers, following the pathway down. I could feel Cooper's abs heaving beneath my touch. I was certain that I had accomplished what I had set out to do. Part of me wanted to keep venturing south; I didn't want to molest the kid, though. I just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.