At Long LastbyRiley James©
Author’s Notes: This story was, at one time dedicated to a good friend of mine.
Your words inspired and entertained me, long before I ever met you.. Keep your eyes open my friend, they are truly the windows to your soul and other imagined possibilities. Remember one person’s idea of trash may be someone else’s treasure. Never stop believing…
Disclaimer: If you are not of legal age to be reading this or the subject of gay romance and sex disturb you, what are you doing here in the first place? This story has never been edited so any mistakes, typographical or grammatical or misinformation are mine alone. If you want to let me know what you think, you can e-mail me. Responses will be timely and flames will be ignored.
I could feel the smooth glans graze the roof of my mouth on the way to take up its residence in the back of my throat. He had been there so many times. Given me so much pleasure these last months. As the seven inches of his slightly curved cock slid past the brink of the natural abyss leading to my gullet, I gave him everything I had, swallowing two, three, four times before I could feel the liquid lava of his testicles erupt down into me.
I pulled back ever so gently as to not aggravate the oversensitive head of his penis that was twitching against my tongue. A single tear slipped from his eye. He was melancholy this week. Our lives crossing some ten months ago had tentatively replaced the sorrow emanating from his soul, but I still sometimes caught him not believing that I was so enamored of him.
Kissing the tear away, we rose and began the routine of our day.
Standing at the sink after our showers, we busily hurried shaving and brushing our teeth. He glanced over toward me and I smiled. The reflection of us, not marred by dreams of grandeur, told our tale. We were past the age where trifles like build and the illusions of a pretty face mattered. The prime of our lives was upon us and I had to remind him constantly that these things made no difference to me. It was his heart and soul that made him so enigmatic and sparked my interest.
Rinsing my cereal bowl in the sink and placing it in the dishwasher, I reached for his and started the cycle. The pasta for dinner, made fresh on the weekend and stored for later use, sat on the counter by the stove, waiting to be molded into another wonderful creation in which I showed my love for the man in my life. Fresh mushrooms and spinach would accompany the light creamy alfredo sauce that I would carefully prepare tonight to nourish my lover’s body, while rejuvenating his mind with my hearty tales of a robust work day.
He still sat drinking his morning coffee as I sidled up beside him and nuzzled my face in his neck.
“You promise to try and have a good day? No letting the little monsters tie you to the desk and torture you now. Tell them that I will have to come down there and prove I am far superior to their quick thinking little minds if they do.” I kissed the wide breadth of his neck behind his ear and slipped my arms around his chest, full and bursting with longing and desire to repeat the act that bonded us this morning.
He smiled as I passed back in front of the kitchen counter on the way to the front door, my work boots trodding heavily on the linoleum.
“I love you, you know?” He said quietly.
I beamed, “Yeah babe I do. And I love you, whether you believe it or not!” I winked as I headed out the door, burning the image of his lovely graying hair, rosy cheeks and drowning eyes into my brain for the day.
His self-confidence had mostly returned after the first few weeks I stayed around after meeting him that day on the train, but every now and then, like this morning, I caught him slipping back into the questioning, unsure single man I watched from across a crowded commuter train.
As I started my truck and let it idle, the memory of our chance of luck, fate, kismet, whatever you want to call it rolled around in my mind. Never in a million years would I have thought that I could find love twice in a lifetime, but there it was averting my glances not some 20 yards from me…
As I finished up from my long day, the locker room at the yard seemed empty. Most of the men had already left around three. The day before Christmas was still a work day, but the powers that be at the city had let everyone on day shift go home early to be with their families. I had volunteered to be on call, fending off whatever emergency may arise with the aging water and sewer system over the holiday. I changed out of my waterproof work pants and pulled my walking shoes back on. The air was cold and crisp and the chill would keep me alert on my stroll to the station. I blew on my hands as I walked, forgetting my gloves in the kitchen of my small apartment that morning. The rush of the day had passed, but there were still quite a few people on the train. I shuffled past most, smiling from the happier faces I encountered this time of year and found a seat.
I surveyed the crowd. I loved watching people and the day before my favorite holiday was no exception. I loved to think of what their situations might be as I played devil’s advocate for them. Along the wall next to me was a woman in her mid to late forties. A scarf encircled her carefully coifed tresses and a raincoat clinched tightly in her grasp, covered a shimmering black party dress. She was, in my mind, a well-known lady of high society. Her administrative assistant had called in sick this morning, much to her disappointment and left her to run her own errands. How much more demeaning could that be, she thought to herself, as I giggled to myself in my scenario.
There were two construction guys sitting across from me wide stances and burly shoulders giving away their profession. They… let’s see they were two buddies, friends for their entire lives, growing up together on the shores of Jersey. Married with wives and kids, mortgages and extramural softball leagues, each longed for the other to test the line of friendship and offer something forbidden. Alas, to straight to know what was good for them, they continued in their mundane lives, lusting secretly and jacking off routinely to visions of the other in the buff. I chuckled again to myself. I knew no one knew of my little plots, but they nevertheless kept my mind amused on my daily journeys.
I looked around for another victim. Green eyes flashed up from under a hat that had seen its better days. When I openly stared at him, he purposely looked out the window, fearing I was a mugger or a pervert.
I let my eyes drift away from him to ease his suspicions. In my quick appraisal I had seen a man of some substance. Early forties, graying at the temples, his face though looked haggard and withdrawn. I didn’t have to spin a yarn of mystery around him, his story was written all over him. From his downward stare to his disheartening body language, he reeked of loneliness and apathy. I knew him, hell I almost became him.
When my lover of twenty years died suddenly of a heart attack three years ago, I spiraled into grief and despair. Family and friends pulled me back from the brink of the chasm in my heart, never letting me alone long enough to get so deep into myself that I would never return. I was lucky, my sister and brother and their families meant the world to me and I immersed my life with the role of perfect uncle until my heart found repose. I still looked at the spot in the park where we passed many a summer’s day reading to each other or just relaxing with a tinge of sadness, but I had found that life goes on, with or without you.
A couple of stops had drawn the few other people in our car to their final destinations, leaving me there with my suspicious friend. I gathered my courage and approached him. Again his stare left me and scurried to find a hiding place. I extended my hand and spoke to him. He visibly shuttered with surprise.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Loren Whittier.” His eyes again darted up from under the brim of his tattered hat appraising the lunatic before him.
“Look, I know I could be the slasher from hell and you don’t know me from Adam, but it being Christmas Eve and all, I just thought I would say hello at least.” I sighed, I didn’t think I was getting through to him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” I moved to return to my seat.
“No,” he said, as I was half way back to my previous position. “Don’t go.”
I turned and looked at him. His head sank against his chest and I couldn’t help but wonder just how alone this man really was. He looked back and begged me with his eyes to return. I came over and sat where I had before, giving him plenty of space and not reaching into his comfort zone again with my greeting.
This time though, his hand extended to me.
“It’s very nice to meet you Loren Whittier, I’m Neal… Neal Cartwright.” His hands were puffy and red from the winter cold. I shook his hand in greeting, feeling the firm grip and despite their appearance, a warm body temperature.
“I just wanted to say what a gracious thing that was for you to do. I can’t remember when ever in my forty seven years I have been approached by a complete stranger simply to extend a greeting.” He was very well spoken and reminded me of a proper English gentleman. He took off his hat and held it in his lap.
“Thanks Neal, I just thought you looked like you needed a friend today.” I wanted to say more, but I held back. My success at judging sexual preference based on outward appearances was iffy at best. I didn’t need him bolting before I could try to get to know him, at least a little.
“Where are you headed buddy? Home to the family for Christmas?” I suspected there were no wife and kiddies waiting at home for him, but testing the waters was safe for now.
“No, no. I don’t have a family Loren. My cats will be sitting, detached, languidly sprawled on the furniture hastily awaiting my return.” Neal’s eyes were indeed the windows to his soul.
“You in the city?” I pried even further.
“No, just this side of New Haven.” Neal volunteered.
“Well I’m off here at the last NY stop. I don’t either by the way.” I fished the line out there.
“Don’t what?” His brow peaked.
“Have a family to go home to.” I watched closely to see his reaction.
He was deep in thought. “I see. Well, in any case it was a pleasure to meet you my courteous friend.”
I shifted the transmission into reverse. As I backed out of the driveway of our suburban Connecticut home, I looked at Neal’s well-worn Buick sitting next to my regular spot. That car was not going to last another winter here in the land of ice and snow. We had talked repeatedly about replacing it with something newer and more dependable, but just like the rut his life had been before our relationship blossomed, Neal was attached to the old, familiar piece of baggage.
We had slowly opened up to each other in those first months, my hope and enthusiasm finally wearing down his complacency and cynicism. He never believed that I was in it for the long haul and even though I told him over and over how much I adored him, he never let himself believe it. One day when I had been completely fed up by his dreary attitude, I shouted to him from the upstairs landing as he was leaving for the academy.
“I love you Neal Cartwright, whether you believe me or not. I am going to be your lover for the rest of your life and I will not leave you or our lives together, no matter what. You are a stubborn, self-absorbed prick sometimes. And until you stop worrying what I see in you and accept that what I am attracted to is you, all of you, body, brain, heart and soul then we are never going to get past the emptiness you felt for all of those years.” I was sweating and shaking as I finished my tirade. His eyes filled with tears as he reached for the door handle and left the house. I slammed my hand down on the banister enough to sprain my wrist it turned out. I guess I’m lucky I didn’t break the railing.
Later that afternoon, trying for the millionth time to relax and enjoy my vacation day, the doorbell rang.
I peeked out of the living room window, pulling the shears to one side and saw a delivery van from the local florist. I opened the door and there stood a lovely young man, holding an even lovelier bouquet of creamy roses. He asked for Loren Whittier and I signed my name to his ledger. I took the flowers to the kitchen table and sat down, pulling the card from the holder. I knew of course whom they were from, but secretly I was hopeful that I had finally gotten through to him. The card said simply…
I know you do… I’m sorry ~N
Now with those months of uncertainty behind us we slipped into a familiar, comfortable routine. I knew that as much as he hated to admit it, Neal was ready to leave the hurt of his earlier life behind him. The car would be a different story. That was the planned topic of discussion for tonight’s dinner. We probably wouldn’t need a fire to warm the chilling September air this evening, as the hot air coming from my partner would keep us both rather toasty.
I pulled up to the small parking lot that housed my new Dodge Ram at the water department in our town. It hadn’t been difficult to transfer out here, my twenty plus years of experience was well received in the small, close knit public works department. I sat there looking around as the radio played a sexy saxophone solo. I loved jazz and as one of the many things Neal and I had in common, it reminded me of him and his cool, reserved persona. The one I fell in love with on Christmas day last year.
The train had come to a stop at my station. I looked back over my shoulder thinking that I would probably never see this guy again.
“Neal, would you like to come and have a drink with me before you go home?” He seemed astonished at me yet again.
“Why yes Loren, that would be lovely.” He gathered his aging leather case and reached for his gloves in his coat pocket. His hat (which I promptly threw out the first week I was there) perched on his head, droopy and exhausted from years of use, making him look quite a bit older than he was.
“Good, well there’s a little place right by my apartment that should still be open.” We walked for a couple of blocks, talking about the weather and the city, until we reached the neighborhood pub near my building. The Blue Note was a little jazz joint that I hung out in. They had weekly talent night and a saxophonist named Earl that I could sit all night and listen to. The drinks were pretty crummy but I only wanted to have another little bit to see if I was right about Neal.
“Do you always spend the holidays alone Neal?” Later he told me how virtually transparent I was, but I had to find out more about him and direct questions at this late stage of the day were the fastest way to the truth.
“No, I usually go to my sister’s in Hartford, but this year she and her husband decided to go to Florida. Get away from this miserable winter we are having up here.” Neal’s eyebrows were doing their inquisitive little dance again and I thought I saw a twinkle in those jade colored eyes.
“What about you Loren, don’t you have anyone in your life? A girlfriend maybe?” He was coy, but not convincing and I winked at him, placing my hand on top of his on the little round table. The light was low and there weren’t many people in the place.
“I think we both know that I don’t have a girlfriend Neal. And I think we both know that there is a spark between us.” So much for holding anything back. If he was gonna bolt, now was definitely the time.
“I must say Loren, I think you have now shocked me three times in the space of only a few hours. I didn’t think that was possible. I should admit to you, that I am extremely flattered at your comments.” His smile was sincere and heartwarming. It was now or never.
“Neal what do you say we spend Christmas Eve together?” I got it out without tripping on my tongue, which was what usually happened when I propositioned another man. Of course before my lover Warren had passed away three years earlier it had been quite a good while since I had actually engaged in one of these highly volatile conversations.
“Well Loren, I think in light of the turn in the conversation, that might be a very welcome Christmas gift indeed.” Neal squeezed my fingers into his grasp and I returned the gesture.
“Why don’t we get out of here then? Your place or mine?” I quizzed him.
“I know we are quite close to yours, but since you are in an apartment, maybe my home would be a bit more comfortable. Would you like to stop by your place and pick up some essentials for the trip?” ‘Like a change of clothes for tomorrow morning’ I thought still fixated on his deep green eyes.
“Sure, that would be great. I’ll just grab a couple of things and we’ll be on our way.” I paid the tab and we emerged from the little club in the darkness. We walked the block or so to my building and went upstairs to my apartment. It wasn’t a dive, but it wasn’t the Waldorf Astoria either. Old newspapers littered the kitchen counter where I usually sat reading them before I went to work. Yesterday’s dishes still sat in the sink and I’m sure there was a stray pair of boxers on the floor by my couch were I shed them to jerk off while watching a recently rented porno last night. ‘Eeew, why do I do these things to myself? Maybe I can grab them on my way to the bedroom without him seeing.’ I rationalized quickly.
I think I managed to stuff the underwear away into my hand and disappear into the bedroom without him noticing anything, shouting what a quick second it would be before my return, but I wasn’t sure. Packing a little gym bag with some jeans, a t-shirt and a flannel, some clean briefs and socks, I went back into the family room and dropped the bag on my rocking chair. Neal stood in the vestibule of the tiny apartment, not wanting to invade my privacy.
“Would you please come in and relax?” I laughed. “Would you like to use the restroom before we go or have a quick glass of something?” I was trying to be hospitable, but not patronizing.
“Thank you Loren, I should probably use the lavatory, yes.” Neal excused himself after I pointed the way to the john.
When he came back I was standing at the breakfast bar scanning the mail from yesterday. I hadn’t had a chance to look at it before this. He came up to me and looked into my eyes. I was going to try and shock him one more time. I leaned forward and kissed him ever so gently on the lips. They were warm despite the cool temperature in the apartment. I leaned back and waited for his reply.
Instead of another eloquent little speech, he put his hand behind my head and pulled me to him again. His lips traced the outline of mine, skirting across the close cropped hair of my mustache and beard. I opened my mouth and his tongue found mine in an instant. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, so to speak, but one of inquiry and investigation.
“We had better get moving my good sir, or I am liable to have you on your back in my bed in a matter of minutes.” I smiled whole heartedly at him and his hand pressed against my crotch.
“Yes, well that might be the case now, mighten it.” I looked at his fly and could see that there was indeed a small bulge beginning to form. “It might be fun to explore those possibilities here and now Loren, but I think waiting might make it all the more special indeed.”
I loved listening to Neal’s high brow speech pattern. Of course what I wanted to love was growing in his pants. It had been a good deal of time since I had been with a lover. After Warren, I struggled for at least a year and after that it had been only two quick one-night stands with men I couldn’t remember after a few too many beers on a several occasions. We gave each other a look of recognition and I gathered my bag, dashing back to the bathroom for my toothbrush at the last minute.