The Junior Senator

He even let me top him, once, the morning I was leaving. "I don't really like it," he said. "I mean, I like the physical part of it, but I don't like the emotional part of it. I feel like I'm giving too much of myself away."

"I don't care," I said, coldly, as I slid into him and he gasped. "Hold it all back. I'm not making love to you. I'm fucking you."

I was but I wasn't. When I closed my eyes, the hairy, dark man beneath me transformed. He became a staid, fair man with big teeth and bigger dimples and a wife and two daughters and my heart.

*****

As I flew back toward Milwaukee and then drove to Madison, I knew what I needed to do. I didn't know if I had the strength to do it, but I knew I needed to muster it if I could.

Our last conversation before Spring Break had been our ugliest. JJ asked what I was doing for the Break, and I had made the mistake of honesty.

"This guy, will you have sex with him?"

"Yes. That's the point. That's why I'm going."

"I'm not comfortable with that."

"Well, I'm not comfortable with you having sex with Claire. But, you do, so gander and goose."

"Rarely. And, I don't think it's the same."

"I know you don't, which is probably why we are where we are. But, it's the same. You don't think it is because you don't place the same value on man to man as you do man to woman, which is pretty fucking sick at this point. Regardless, you can't consign me to 'I get to have sex and you don't.' You have to understand how un-fucking-fair that is."

He started and then stopped. I don't think he had anything to say.

I, too, started and then stopped. I didn't know what to say.

One part of me wanted to plead with him to "choose me," to give in to what we had built, which he had to admit was incredible.

The other part of me wanted to chide him, to force him to admit that I was entitled to fuck as much as he was entitled to fuck.

I didn't satisfy either want. Instead, I left him alone in his office. I was angry and hurt as I slammed the door, too loudly.

As I drove back to him, I was resolute. For him, I needed to let him go. I mean, if I loved him like I claimed, I couldn't undo him like I wanted.

For me, I needed to let him go. I mean, I was dangling over the edge, and there was nothing to catch or cushion me if I fell.

"We can't keep going like we've been going," I said.

When he didn't respond, I said, "We can't keep doing what we've been doing. We can't keep making out. We can't keep teetering between that and this. It's not fair to anyone involved."

"Okay."

I was destroyed that he didn't fight me, argue against my resolution, try to conjure a solution that allowed for that and this. I was destroyed that he did exactly as he should have done.

"I mean," he added. "I agree. I'm not proud of what I've done. I shouldn't have done it. Thank you for fixing it. I should have, but I couldn't. I tried, but I wasn't strong enough to deny myself."

"Oh my God," I thought to myself. I was in deeper than he was, and now he was ceding to me the high road. I didn't belong there. I was making a play, hoping he would plead. He didn't.

"What's done is done," I said, resigned.

"What's done is done," he said, moving to the door of his office to see me out.

"One last kiss?" I asked, weakly.

When he didn't move or respond, I asked, even more meekly, "please?"

His lips met mine. I opened my mouth, and his tongue found mine. I clamped one of my hands to the back of his head and the other to the base of his back.

"I love you," I sent, as I kissed him.

"I want you," I sent, as I kissed him.

"Please don't let me go," I sent, as I kissed him.

Our kiss ended, and his forehead was against mine, the tips of our noses touching.

"I'm sorry," he said, resignedly.

"I know," I said. "Me, too," I admitted.

*****

"We should still train together" I read, opening the note that was in my student mailbox. "7 a.m. T and Th?"

We had planned to meet at oh dark thirty two days per week, one to bicycle and one to run. Swimming, a totally solo sport, was for each of us on our own.

At 7 a.m. on Tuesdays, I saw him on his bicycle, pedaling with his head down and bearing down.

At 7 a.m. on Thursdays, I saw him beside me, striding with his head down and bearing down.

"You should run with your head up," I said, after one of our runs. "Like you walk. Resolute. Tall."

He didn't really respond. The time we spent together was business-like and formal.

I was both astonished and disappointed by how easily he turned me off. One minute, we were making out like teenagers. The next, we were apart and separate, the prior intimacy in the rear view mirror, getting smaller and smaller as we moved further and further from it.

He handled it with aplomb, like he was totally okay with the end of that and the current of this.

I did not handle it nearly as well. I was bereft. When I saw him, I wanted to hold his hand and kiss his mouth and resume our trek toward wherever we had been heading.

He seemed totally uninterested in that destination.

In fact, he seemed relieved the journey was over.

*****

I sublimated my desire for him into training to beat him. Maybe, I thought that biking or running or swimming faster would impress him. More likely, I thought that beating him would prove I was not whatever he thought I was and that he did not have the hand he thought he had.

We trained hard. I felt it in my bones. I ached when I rested my head on my pillow.

I saw it in my physique. Generally slim, I slimmed to the point that there was not an ounce of fat on me. Every muscle I owned rippled. I was as taut as a snare drum.

I also saw it in his physique. Already in good shape, he moved into even better shape.

I marveled at his composure. He was like a spigot. He was on. Then, he was off.

I wasn't so controlled. I missed him so much. I couldn't just turn him off. I ached for him. I wanted him to ache for me. I wanted him. I wanted him to want me.

Every Saturday morning, we took our long run. Typically, I listened to music, which meant little or no talking. The Saturday before graduation, the eighth Saturday of our new normal, I was fed up and needed to talk. The resolution was evansescent; I wanted to rescind it.

"Don't you miss me?" I asked, when we had barely started.

"Miss you? I see you all the time. Since we started training, I've spent more time with you than ever before."

"You know what I mean, the dancing."

"I don't recall any dancing."

"That's what we were doing... dancing. You know, around the floor."

"I must be obtuse. I'm not following."

"The handholding. The kissing. It was all a dance."

"Ahhhh.... I've never heard it called that. It was fun while it lasted. And, yes, I do miss it, I guess. But, I don't miss the guilt and the regret. They were starting to overwhelm me. You stopped it all at just the right time."

We ran on.

"I miss it," I finally confided.

He stopped, but I didn't realize it. When I did, I had to circle back half a block.

"I know you do. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. You have to see it in mine, too. You have to fucking see it in mine, too."

I was surprised by the profanity. He never swore.

"But," he said. "It's better this way. I get to be with you, but not in a way that cleaves me. If we had kept going, I'd have done something from which there is no return, and I can't have that. I just can't have that."

His eyes were wet. I grabbed his hand, pulled it to my mouth, and kissed the back of it, right in the whorl.

"I can't run any more today," he said. "I feel like a flat tire."

"I'm going to keep going," I said. I didn't want to, but I couldn't walk with him back to our cars. His confession was too much. I'd have pushed for the "something from which there is no return," whether in his car or in my car or someplace we found, fumbling with each other.

When I got home, I texted Barrett. "Hey, I graduate next Saturday. I know it's last minute, but how would you like a visitor the following week. I'd like to celebrate."

The bubbles appeared almost immediately. "Sure," he answered. "We can 'celebrate' all u want."

The following Saturday, JJ stopped running when I told him I was going to Dallas and would miss a week of training.

"What?" I asked, circling back to him.

"I don't know. I wasn't expecting that.... bit of news. It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I think I'm jealous."

"You can't be."

"I know."

"It's not fair for you to be."

"I know."

We started running again, but his proximity was wounding me. I turned off our regular route. I needed to be alone.

I thought back to a re-run of Will & Grace, where Grace refers to Will as her non-romantic life partner. That's what JJ was becoming to me, and I had to decide if that was enough for me, whether I could thrive as a sexless lover to my straight, married friend.

*****

There was something about being away from him. During my week in Dallas, I decided I could not be JJ's sexless lover. I needed and wanted more, he couldn't or wouldn't provide it, and his presence would inhibit my ability to find it elsewhere.

I also had great sex. While Barrett and I weren't generally compatible, we were definitely bedroom compatible.

"Jesus," he said, the morning I was leaving, after surprising me in the shower with a furtive blow job and then a ravenous dicking from behind. "I've had more sex this week than I've had in most months, and I have a lot of sex."

"It's been great," I said. "But, my dick is just about dead and my ass is wrecked. It's good that I'm leaving. I couldn't take much more."

"I could. I love your ass. It's fierce."

"Well, I love your dick. It's fierce."

Our dicks were similar. Neither was long, but both were thick. During one of our sessions, he held them together and announced "they could be twins."

I corrected him. "Aside from the mole on the right side of mine, they could be identical twins."

"Mine's more vocal."

"More vocal?"

"I was being funny. I shoot more."

He was right. I don't know where he stored it, as his testes were not big. But, he pumped a massive amount out every time he came, no matter how many times he had already come. It was astonishing.

To bid him adieu, I took one last load as he drove me to the airport, my head bobbing in his lap as the mile markers whipped by.

"Don't talk to the other passengers," he said, hugging me good-bye and squeezing my fierce ass. "Or they'll know what you've been up to.... Your mouth smells like cum."

I licked my lips. "Tastes like it, too."

*****

When I arrived back in Madison, I arrived to a very large box in front of my apartment door. I opened the note first:

H:

Sorry, I should have given this to you before you left. Instead, I was petulant. Anyway, congratulations on your graduation.

Yours,

JJ

He was not mine. I wanted him to be, but he was not.

I opened the box to find smaller boxes. The first was long and slender and, when I opened it, held a tie. It was purple (my favorite color) with silver stripes (my favorite pattern).

"For leverage the first time someone really kisses you," the note said.

The next box was larger. It held a purple swimming suit and a white, insulated, waterproof top.

"For the water," the note said.

The next box was about the same. It held purple cycling shorts, a purple cycling shirt, and a purple cycling hat with a tiny bill.

"For the ride," the notes said. "Although, looking at it now, it may be 'Barney Rides a Bike'. I should have gone with the white shirt."

The next box was about the same. It held purple running shorts and a white running shirt.

"For the run," the note said. "And, I learned my lesson. See prior box. All purple not repeated."

There were not more boxes, but there were more gifts. The first was a book -- "Peace Like a River" -- with a note that said "For the mind."

The second was also a book -- "Healthy Eating for Healthy Living" -- with a note that said "For the body."

The final was also a book -- "The Seven Story Mountain" -- with a note that said "For the spirt."

At the bottom of the box, there was a letter, folded, but not in an envelope. It was tri-folded and sealed with a gold sticker, but not a Gold Crown sticker.

I peeled the sticker open gently and unfolded the letter. In JJ's tidy script, it said:

I know this isn't easy on you. If it's any consolation, it's not easy on me, either.

I know you want more. If it's any consolation, I do, too.

I know you love me. If it's any consolation, I love you, too.

Very.

Very.

Much.

[Please note the effusiveness of the double "very." When you have stopped noting and can breathe again, read on.].

I know it doesn't make it any better for you, but....

I'm happy when I'm with you.

I miss you the moment you're gone.

I'm bereft when those moments add up.

I'm giddy when they evanesce.

I'm happy when I'm again with you.

I know this is a lot for you. Rest assured, it's also a lot for me. Just putting the words down is breaking me.

But, I also know that I'm breaking you.

I'm so sorry that I can't act on the above and give you what you want, what you deserve.

And, I know that what I'm offering is unacceptable. [If you were offering it to me, I'd scoff at it.].

I don't know where that leaves us, but I understand if it means you leave me. If the tables were turned, I'd leave you.

Heavy stuff, that.

Too heavy for me to keep at it.

So, with all that I am, congratulations, H.

I am proud of and I love you.

And, even when it doesn't seem like it, I'm

Yours, JJ

PS I wanted to inscribe the books, but "no evidence." So, there is no inscription, but "Love, JJ" is on every flipping page.

PPS Please burn this letter. Don't keep it, no matter how much you want to keep it. Because, someone will find it. "No evidence."

I had never received a more thoughtful collection of gifts. They didn't seem very JJ to me. He was not sentimental, and the gifts were.

I had also never received a more revelatory letter. It, too, didn't seem very JJ. He played his cards close to the vest; he didn't splay them on the table.

I ignored his request. I did not burn the letter. When you receive a letter like that, you hold onto it, so you can return to it, so -- when you're down and out or grey and almost gone -- you can re-read it and remember "I once moved someone that much" or reflect "I remember when, for the first time in my life, someone else laid himself bare."

I also pulled back my "I can't be JJ's sexless lover" card. I could no longer play it.

*****

On Monday, I wanted to visit his office, thank him for the gifts, really thank him for the note, and blow him as he leaned against the door. In my mind's eye....

I take his tie between my thumb and my forefinger, the way I did that one time. He watches my hand as I do and then raises his eyes to mine. Without a word, I move my mouth to his, and we kiss, gently and then fiercely, our tongues lashing. As we kiss, I press him into the door with my body. I want him to know how hard I am for him. There is no way for him to escape, so he slides down the door a bit.

"Wow," he says, when our lips part.

"Wow," I agree.

We stare at each other.

"Please don't stop me," I whisper as I move forward, one hand on his belt and the other on his zipper.

"H," he whispers. "I don't know about this."

"I do," I whisper back, reaching through his zipper and finding his erection, my mouth back on his as I grip him for the first time.

"Grrr," I hear in his throat as I maneuver him free.

I look down. I'm thrilled at what I see. It is big and heavy and thick and I have to have it.

I settle in front of him.

"H," he says, as I move toward him, my mouth watering.

I don't know if his plaintive "H" is an attempt to stop me or approval. I don't care.

I take him in my mouth. He flinches.

I raise my eyes, hoping his eyes are on me. They are not; they are closed, his face flushed.

I use my hands on his hips to pin him to the door. I listen to him moan as I take him completely into my mouth and down my throat, not stopping until the hair of his bush is against my lips, my throat as full as it has ever been.

"Jesus Christ," I hear.

I want to make this last, but I can't. I'm too hungry. I start sliding my mouth up and down his shaft.

His breath hitches, his body stiffens, and I hear "Oh no."

His erection expands and then erupts. I swallow and slide, swallow and slide, swallow and slide.

I milk all I can from him. Even then, I can't remove my mouth. I use my tongue on his glans until he pulls himself from my mouth.

He slides down the door.

"Thank you," he says, once he settles on the floor. "I had no idea."

"Thank you," I answer. "And I was certain."

"I think you're really good at that, but I don't know. That was my first."

"I know."

"It was great."

"I know.... I'm really good at it."

"Do I need to.... reciprocate?"

"Oh, God no. No, not all. That was as much for me as for you."

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah," I answer.

I illuminate him. I explain to him that, in my world, it is far better to give than to receive, that I'd much rather suck than be sucked. I don't tell him that, when he came in my mouth, I had come in my boxer briefs, hands-free, just from the thrill of him coming in my mouth.

*****

My fantasy notwithstanding, I didn't visit him in advance of our Tuesday ride.

"H," he said, as I rode up, his smile wide. "How was your trip?"

"It was great."

"Did we move to 417?"

"No, we remain stuck on 416."

"Oh," he said, seeming relieved.

I don't know why, but his relief piqued me. "Oh, I blew him. Frequently. He's just a repeat offender, so it's still 416."

"Oh. So, one of the factors stayed the same, but the product went up?"

"Yup."

"Good talk," he said, strapping his helmet on and preparing to pedal away.

"Hey," I said, stopping him, my hand on his arm, my bicycle now next to his. "Thank you for the gifts. And for the note. I love the gifts. I really love the note."

"I hope it's 'loved the note'. I hope the note's gone."

"Oh, it is," I lied, my hand still on his arm.

He stared at me. I think he was trying to determine whether I was lying about the note.

"What?" I asked.

"I forget, sometimes, just how stunning you are. But, when I'm close to you, like this, when I can see the flecks of silver in your eyes, well, it literally takes my breath away."

I was discomforted by his admission, so I changed the subject. "I have a story I want to tell you."

As we rode, I told him every detail of my fantasy. I left nothing out.

When I finished, he didn't say anything. He just rode on, left knee up, then right knee, then left knee, then right knee. My knees matched his.

"No reaction?" I asked.

"I wouldn't have said Jesus Christ," he said, picking up his pace, proving he was a better rider than me, and calling back over his shoulder, "I don't take the name of the Lord in vain."

*****

We were to leave for the Boulder Peak Triathlon on July 5, which would give us five days to acclimate to the altitude. In the six weeks between graduation and our departure, we worked ourselves to nubs. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw more of me, even though there was less of me.

My cheekbones became more pronounced.

My lips appeared more full.

My ribs protruded.

My abdominal muscles thickened and became prominent.

My ass rounded.

My calves thickened and rounded.

Every time I looked at JJ, I wanted him more. Like me, he was thickening and thinning, but not as I was. He trained all the time, so the changes were not as dramatic or as noticeable.

He was modest. Despite all of the time we spent sweating together, I still had not seen his back or his chest or his stomach. He cycled in a shirt. He ran in a shirt.