Oliver's Dilemma

It's a small place called Joe's Fries. They still cut the fries by hand and never too long ahead of time. They are the best fries in the country, so says Dan. He's been almost everywhere, so, I suppose he's probably right. I have been almost everywhere too... in the Village and Old Montréal. Once, I've been to Galeries d'Anjou[1]. Man, that's far.

As usual—because we've been here more times than I can count—we order through the window on the side of the cabin. And guess what?

"Hey, big Dan," Joe yells almost at the top of his lungs, "haven't seen you in ages. Where the hell were you?"

"Christ, Joe, it's nice to see your ugly face again," he replies, laughing.

"Hey! Where's the little guy?" Joe asks, pretending not to see me. "I forgot his name, though," he says laughing at my expense.

"You mean my little pet? Right here." Dan is taping me gently on the head.

After they have a good laugh, Dan orders: "Four steamies, the works and a huge man-size fry."

"Your turn, Oliver," Dan tells me in a soft tender voice. I'm surprised. He's never done that in public before.

"You know we love ya, don't you, Oliver?" Joe says affectionately.

He's known me forever. He gave me my first job. I love the old guy.

"Cheese, mustard, fresh-cut cabbage, and a real cutie-size fry," I order with a big smile.

They laugh so hard; they were both crying. When these two meet, it's always a riot.

The fresh food arrives on a big tray, personally delivered by Joe. We're sitting at a picnic table next to his little cabin.

"Enjoy! Boys!" He squeezes Dan's neck, ruffles my hair, and quickly leaves to serve another client.

In the end, I got a big fry as always. Dan's fry was gigantic.

Dan looks at me picking at my fries and asks, "Are you gonna eat those?"

I just push the basket to him, shaking my head. It's gone in seconds.

Dan wants to walk around for a while. He looks pensive, and that means I won't like it. We go up towards Sherbrooke Street and across into Lafontaine Park. I follow him to a quiet place where we sit on a bench under a huge tree. The only trees I can name are the maple and fir trees. The others are, well, trees.

He puts his arm around my shoulders and tells me, "My wife and I have agreed to an uncontested divorce. We filed the papers a couple of months ago directly with the court in Vancouver. It's cheap, with no lawyer's hassles. It should be official in a few weeks."

He smiles and squeezes my shoulder. I hide my face in my hands, and I start to cry. He pulls me close to him and kisses me on the cheek.

He's not finished. "I've also requested a transfer here in Montréal. I can't guarantee you anything about that. My chances are slim, but one never knows."

A big finger finds its way under my chin and pulls my face up towards a lush pair of lips. Dan pours a ton of love into this kiss. He holds me for a while. He let go of me and sits upright. I feel another declaration coming.

He's looking straight ahead with both hands on his lap. Now, I know I'll hate what he's about to say.

"I'll be involved with testing a new technology, I worked on for the past five years," he says looking away, "The testing site is in Dawson City, Yukon. I'll be gone for four or five months." He stops and turns around with his beautiful brown eyes looking at me.

I'm silently crying unable to look away. I wish he had told me that on Tuesday morning just before he was to leave. Not now! I'm angry and sad. I'm unable to articulate a single word.

I get up in a hurry. It startles Dan, who freezes for a few seconds. With my back turned to him, I roughly tell him, "Let's go home." Then I start to walk. He rapidly catches up with me and walks by my side silently all the way home. He's quiet, letting me digest that last part.

At some point, I stop feeling selfish and sorry for myself. It's going to be just as hard for him. I know he loves me. He's told me that a few times already, but I've never reciprocated. Do I love him? I think I do.

"Dan, I'm sorry. I was rude back there." He's doing all of this for me. What a miserable shit I can be sometimes.

"I know it's a lot to take in, Oliver." Then, silence takes hold of him again.

Once we arrive home, Dan hugs me and says, "Come sit with me, Oliver." We sit down with Dan's arm around my shoulder, the way we always do.

"You know I love you. I've told you that a few times. I've worked very hard on this new technology. I can't just tell the guys to go by themselves and test it as best they can in Yukon's hard environment. I must go. It's hard for me too, little man. I promise you, Oliver Ridgewood, that I'll come back to you as soon as I can."

He looks at me, bends down, whispers to my ear, "You're the only one in my life, Oliver," and kisses me. We make love on the couch, nice and slow, exploring our secret erogenous joy spots. Dan slowly builds tiny bridges, one after the other, to where our souls meet, and takes us there at the end of our most sensual, erotic dance.

After our sofa adventure, we walk around, have supper at a nice restaurant, and make love again all night. Monday is a copy of Sunday, except for my little mood swings. Tuesday morning, I cry, of course. Dan makes love to me before breakfast, and after breakfast, after which I fall asleep exhausted. When I get up around ten a.m., Dan is on the plane to Toronto.

I start work at three p.m. My heart hurts, my ass hurts, and I miss him already.

*** *** ***

Wednesday, mid-July, The Village, Montréal.

Dan's been gone over four weeks now. Communications are terrible. We hardly ever talk live. All we can do is text, and even that fails half the time. I'm miserable, I hate him, and I love him, all at once. I miss him more than I thought possible. Of course, doubts creep into my head: he's fucking someone else. He won't come back to me. Whatever tortures me the most.

I changed shift to avoid Vic because I'm sure if I see him, I'll drag him to bed. I need to be loved in bed. Vic no longer comes to the restaurant for breakfast, or any other meals. I'm so sorry for him, and for me too. According to Gilles, that's entirely my fault. I told Peter to go to hell the other day. He almost fired me. Today is one of my two days off of the week. So, I tell myself, let's go to Old Montréal for the day. I need a change of scenery. I take a shower, make myself cute but with a touch of conservatism, and leave on foot. After walking two blocks, I wave down a taxi.

At lunchtime, I spot a tiny restaurant off the beaten tracks, with a small terrace. All the tables have this cutest deep-red umbrella. To access the terrace, you must first go through the restaurant. A big man is waiting to be seated and I'm standing behind him and a little to the side so I can see inside the restaurant. A beautiful young and smiling waitress approaches us and looks at the two of us. In her mind, we are together.

"So," she says, "table for two. Please, gentlemen, follow me." She turns around with a couple of menus in her hands and walks away.

The big guy, looking confused, turns around. I can't believe it. Vic. It's Vic, for christ's sake.

"Come, Oliver," he says with his goddam sexy and deep masculine voice. "I think we need to talk." He looks as surprised as me. The only difference is that he does not put one of his hands on his mouth standing there, not knowing what to say and turning the colour of a cooked beet. He's in command. He's in control of himself. Well, he's a big macho man.

The lunch is simple, and, more importantly, very good. Everything is fresh, homemade right here. You can smell it. You can taste it. Vic has a steak and fries—a classic—with a large mug of beer. I have the filet of sole on rice with a veggie salad—more my style—with a glass of perfectly chilled white wine.

Vic, being one of those bull moose, likes sports: football, soccer, and formula one car racing. He hates hockey. He says that a sport that can't protect its best players--its stars--against the bullies hired to demolish them isn't worth paying attention to. Needless to say, I know sweet you-know-what about any of that. But I'm glad to listen. I love the sound of his voice and the look of those sexy green eyes. This enormous pile of testosterone makes me go nuts.

We walk around Old Montréal for most of the afternoon. We stop at a bar with tables outside, set in an enclosed private space in front of the popular Place Jacques-Cartier: big bear is thirsty. We are sitting in a corner of the terrace flanked by huge flowerpots. On a Wednesday afternoon, the place is quiet. We sit in silence, side by side. I can't stop looking at Vic. He takes a big gulp of beer and orders another one. I'm good with my Diet Coke. I don't drink, except for the occasional glass of wine, and I already had my daily ration. The waiter sets the beer mug on the table and takes the empty one away.

I feel Vic's large paw on my arm. He's leaning towards me and says, "I want to make love to you, Oliver." He pauses, his eyes drilling mine, and he continues, "I know you don't love me like you love that other big guy, but I know you want me."

I'm stunned. I fight really hard against bringing my hand to my mouth. The truth is, he's right. I want him.

"I can make love to you as nobody else can, Oliver. I'm good at it. I'll bring you to several orgasms in a row." He takes a gulp of beer. "I love you, little guy. Let me please you for a little while. Your lover won't be back for weeks; Gilles told me. I'll leave you alone the moment he returns. I promise you." He takes his hand off my arm. I can see the truth of it in his eyes. He truly loves me. I want him, but I don't want to hurt him.

"You're right, Vic." I can barely speak. "I want you. But, Vic, I don't want to give you false hopes." I can't stop the tears. In many ways, I love him, too.

"Let me love you for a little while, Oliver." It's a pleading whisper. I nod. We leave.

*** *** ***

Vic's the most wonderful lover I've ever had. He's insatiable. After work, he stops at my apartment every day. My rule is that when he comes home, he must strip naked as he enters. I bought a plastic tray for his big, dirty boots. When I'm home, I make sure I watch him ditch his clothes. He gives me quite a show every time. Then he walks towards me, naked and hairy, showing off his massive, solid frame, with his hard manhood looking at me, wanting me. And I want it.

I get off the stool I'm sitting on, getting ready to be undressed by two large, expert hands, while his sexy, lusty green eyes are locked on target: me. We do this silently. There's no need to speak. Sometimes he picks me up and carries me on his shoulder, laughing loudly on our way to the shower where the teasing starts. Then we make love. He's right when he says no one makes love to me like he does.

I adore having this enormous mass of muscles on top of me. He moves with grace. He's attentive to all my little wants and needs. He kisses me all over, lips and tongues munching and licking all my very sensitive spots. His big rough, callused hands delicately brush my body. He manipulates me with disconcerting ease. He flips me around and keeps on kissing, licking, and touching my entire small and hairless body. His big middle finger, which is as big as my cock, runs through my little valley, teases and tickles my rosebud, then penetrates me slowly, playing around inside. He finger-fucks me for a long time, preparing me for his massive manhood.

Just before he mounts me, I like to suck him. I play around with his huge, thick cock. I kiss it, lick it, suck it, masturbate it, and squeeze his large, plump hairy sack. He moans and grunts. Then, he mounts me. Slowly, delicately, he penetrates me with his well-lubed nine-plus-inches cock. It's so thick. His amazing hairy body rubs mine while we dance in unison. I feel his cock rubbing my rectum. I feel his knob throbbing and pushing far inside me. I love the movement of his entire body when he fucks me; it's delicate and light. I hear his moaning, grunting, and growling with his head next to mine. I feel his hot breath on my neck, his kisses, and licks. He likes to munch on my ears; it drives me crazy. He always whispers that he loves me. He flips me around with his cock inside me. He fucks me frontwards, backwards, and sideways. He never loses his rhythm. His hands are as busy as his ass humping me relentlessly. His mouth and tongue never stop.

I come several times during our mating. So does he. It's paradise.

*** *** ***

Tuesday, the third week of August, The Village, Montréal.

Big Vic, smiling with anticipation, enters the apartment. He starts his ceremony when my cell chirps. I look at the incoming call. My heart jumps a beat. My face changes colour. Vic stops undressing and stands upright, looking at me.

"Oh, shit! It's Dan," I yell, overwhelmed by surprise. "Ah, it's just a text message," I mumble. "He's in Vancouver. He's taking a week's vacation. He will arrive here on Friday." I realize that I sound disappointed. I don't know what I'm disappointed about. Well, that's a lie. I do. I'm confused.

Vic, wearing only his jeans, comes and hugs me tightly. I start to cry, of course. He lifts my chin with his big index finger and gives me a kiss. Physically, it's light, but it's overloaded with love and sadness. "We knew this was coming, Oliver," he says, his voice nothing but a whisper. "Thank you for the love you gave me during the past few weeks. It's time for me to go now. You need time to adjust before he comes to you." Tears flood his beautiful green eyes. "I love you, Oliver."

He turns around. I'm frozen in place, looking at a man who took such good care of me, who loved me without asking anything in return, knowing our relationship would inevitably end. He takes his boots and his shirt, puts the keys to my flat on the small credenza by the door, and leaves without looking back.

I fall to my knees and cry my heart out. I love Dan and at the same time, I hate him. I cry for a long time, knowing that Vic's hurt deeply. And so am I. What a man he is. I love him. I love both of them. I'm not sure who I love more. I don't think I love one more than the other.

But right now, I'm hurt, Vic's hurt, and I hate Dan.

And I regret nothing.

I finally get control of my emotions and I send Vic a message because he won't answer his phone. I text him: Vic, give me a week to decide our relationship. Please. I love you. Oliver.

I immediately get a reply: I'll wait a lifetime for you if I have to. Love you. Vic.

I cry again.

*** *** ***

Friday, the third week of August, The Village, Montréal.

I haven't seen or heard anything from Vic. Gilles doesn't know or doesn't want to tell me anything. Peter is as sombre as always. He tells me he's happy to see Vic back at the restaurant and then tells me to get rid of him. Frankly, I don't give a damn what he thinks.

Dan is due in an hour or so from Toronto, where he had a meeting at his company's headquarters. I leave work and walk home. I'm happy, finally. I made up my mind about the man I love. Dan's been with me for more than two years now, and he's sacrificed a lot for me.

Now, I'm really excited. I see the taxi stop in front of the building. Dan is home. Finally. I don't know for how long, but I'll take anything. I want him. I need him. But I'll be frank, Vic occupies a big place in my heart.

Both Gilles and Peter told me time and again that I was making a big mistake with Vic, and that I would endanger my relationship with Dan. All bla, bla, bla. I told them to mind their own business.

At long last, Dan walks in. I'm standing by the kitchen island, tears in my eyes and shaking. The big guy puts his luggage on the floor. I'm moving towards him, and he grabs me for a bear hug. We kiss for a long time, passionately.

"I love you, little man." The kissing continues. His arousal is confirmed by the bulge in his pants rubbing my underbelly. It feels so good to be once again in his arms. We end up naked and in bed fast enough. Dan makes love to me with a passion I didn't know he had. I love the fur covering his entire torso, and the feel of his big cock rubbing on me. He grunts and growls as he penetrates me, deep and fast. I follow his rhythm and we dance what feels more like the hustle than a slow. He comes inside me. We relax for a minute or two, then he turns me around and mounts me from the back. The fuck is furious. Oh, shit. We both come again a little apart.

We shower, get dressed and plan supper for nine p.m. He has to go out to buy some personal hygiene stuff. While he does that, I go out to buy what I need for supper and celebrate with a bottle of champagne.

*** *** ***

At eight p.m., Oliver's apartment

I get home, hands full of bags. I manage to get my shoes off and aim for the kitchen island. The sun is below the horizon, making the room a bit darkish. I make my way to the island where I put the bags.

Aaaaww! Something burns inside of me. I slip to the floor. Everything is a blur. Horrified, I see and feel a knife plunging into my chest. Blood comes out of my mouth. I gurgle something and the knife penetrates me again...

What the hell! I'm touching myself. Nothing. No blood. I don't feel a thing. Impossible. No, no. That's impossible. I'm standing next to...

AAAAAHHHHH!

AAAAAHHHHH!

NOOOOOOO!

It's me down there. AAAHHH! NO. NO. NO. Whaaatt! Fuck! I'm dead. NO. No...

Noise! I hear some noise. Oh! Fuck! Oh, no. It's Dan...

Dan enters and he turns the light on. Oh, my gawd! Poor him. Noooo!

"OLIVERRRRR!

NOOO!

OLIVERRRRR!"

It's a scream like I've never, ever heard before in my whole life. In a flash, he's on the floor with me, holding me and screaming his heart out. Yelling my name over and over again. I try to touch him. Dummy, I'm immaterial. A neighbour appears at the door. It's Suzanne from across the hall. She also screams. It's horrible.

Another one appears, a man, the one living downstairs, below my apartment. He looks at Dan, whom he knows having seen him often, holding me, both covered in blood. He swears something in French. He takes his cell and dials 911. He embraces the old lady, who's crying and brings her back to her apartment. He blocks anyone trying to enter my apartment when I see... oh gawd, no, no. It's Vic and Gilles. Vic moves my neighbour with a simple gesture of his arm and rushes to me and Dan. He tests my wrist for a pulse. Nothing. Rivers of tears are flowing. He kneels and puts a hand on Dan's shoulder.

Dan is completely out of it, silent, pale as a ghost—like me, I suppose. He no longer feels a thing. He looks at Vic and cries. He doesn't know him.

The firemen arrive first and move everybody out of the way, except Dan and Vic. They don't come close to me, or what was me. The medic guys arrive, and they stop. One of them comes closer, checks for my pulse, and returns to where his colleague and the firemen are waiting, shaking his head. The police arrive: two big monsters.

I'm here, somewhere, floating. It's surreal. Don't you only see that in the movies? Maybe I'm dreaming. I'm insane or something.

One of the policemen approaches Vic, puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him to come with him. Vic blankly looks at him and follows the policeman. My heart hurts. It's symbolic, of course. I feel nothing. But I see them all, I hear them all, and I even goddam smell them all. How fucking crazy is this?

The big policeman comes back for Dan. That's a little more difficult. After a few minutes of patiently talking to him, he convinces Dan to follow him. I want to cry. I can't. I scream... no sound.