Totaling the Balance

NOTE: This is the first of "The Steelman Tales."

I'll say this for Matt, he never beat about the bush. He gave me the bad news almost as soon as we were seated at the booth in our favorite restaurant, the little Indian buffet place tucked away in the busy strip mall.

"Jon, I have to tell you something," he said. "I've accepted a position with the company in Greensboro. I'm leaving with my family at the end of the month."

I sat there, not reacting yet. I wasn't altogether shocked by his news. During the two years we had known each other he had talked before about the possibility of moving. Now the unthinkable had come to pass.

"I wish you'd say something."

"Well, what is there to say, Matt? I can't change your mind, can I?"

"No. Jon, this is an incredible career op for me. I really couldn't turn it down. And Christine is overjoyed--we'll be moving back close to our families. Her folks especially have missed seeing the kids. They--"

"Matt," I interrupted, "Give me credit for never thinking I came before your wife and kids, okay? It's just a little hard to know that I'm not even going to be in the running."

Matt said, "Jon--" but then fell silent. His expression was earnest, willing me to understand. I looked at his face, the square jaw and bright blue eyes I had come to love, though I had never said that forbidden word to him.

"You did this on purpose, right?" I said. "You waited to tell me the bad news until it was your turn to pick up the check. Well, it worked, I'm not hungry now."

He relaxed a bit as he realized I was kidding him. "Do you still want to work out on Thursday?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Christ, you're leaving in a month. You think I'm going to pass up an opportunity to see you naked?"

He grinned, embarrassed as always when I complimented his body. "I'll call you to confirm, OK?"

"Sure," I replied. "Let's eat."

"I thought you said you weren't hungry."

"I never pass up a free meal from a hunky guy."

Matt laughed. "Jon, you're such a joker."

I looked him in the eye and said, "What can I do but laugh, Matt?"

It was true. The whole thing between Matthew Mulroy and me had been a cosmic joke all along. Once in a while I would shake my head, amazed that it had happened.

We used to argue amiably about who had started chatting to whom online, but I'm still sure it was him who made the first move. Matt approached me exactly as he would have a potential business client--polite, friendly but doggedly tenacious. It worked, because he had a charm that kept me talking to him even as I found out he was married and had two school-age children--everything I usually refused to have anything to do with, online or anywhere.

It was about a month after his first message to me that we finally arranged to meet in a cafe near one of the roaring commuter freeways we both used to go to and from work. I was nervous--because I was late, for one thing, and also, I had no idea what Matt looked like. I had e-mailed him my picture, which sent him into what I thought was quite undeserved rapture, but Matt had told me he didn't have one of himself. "I have to be careful, you know," he said. So here I was, Jonathan Evans, Jon for short, part-time English instructor at Steelman College, gay, reasonably out, unattached since the death of my partner two years ago (David, rest in peace), going to meet a man with a wife and kids who wanted to fool around on the side with another man. As I said, he was a sweet talker.

He was a looker, too, and just as chatty and gregarious in person as he was online. He wore khakis, neatly pressed, and a colorful shirt. "We dress down at my company," he explained. That was fine by me, especially when he left the table to visit the men's room and I got a good look at his small, tight butt. Maybe that was what decided me. Maybe it was the rest of his compact, fit body--he explained that he had been a high school track runner. He still entered an occasional race around town. Maybe it was his smiling face, with its square jaw and dimples--I'm a sucker for a guy with dimples. But I think it was what I saw after I took my turn in the restroom and was walking back to our booth.

He was staring out the window, not seeing me yet, and there was a look of sadness and loneliness on his unguarded face such as I hadn't seen in a long time. He turned and saw me then, and immediately flashed his smile, but not before I'd realized I'd had a glimpse of his private hell. Yes, he was as hot as any man I'd tricked with, Matt was--but at that moment I wanted to help the guy as much as get my rocks off.

We didn't rush off to bed that first time, though. He had to get back home to his family. "I'd really like to see you again, Jon," he said outside in the parking lot. "You're even better looking than your picture," he added and, hopelessly captivated by then, I swallowed even that tired line.

"I think you're a attractive guy too, Matt," I said. He shook my hand, lingering just an instant longer than called for by a casual meeting, and smiled into my eyes.

"I'll see you online probably," he said, after we had exchanged office phone numbers. With that we drove off to our respective homes. I half hoped that was the last I would hear of him. I half feared the same.

About two weeks later, we met in another crowded, noisy restaurant, Mexican this time. Lunch was as pleasant as our previous meal together. When it was over and I had picked up the tab, over Matt's protests, we stood at the edge of the parking lot. Conversation came to a halt as we shifted our respective weights uneasily from foot to foot.

"So," Matt finally said, "what do you have lined up for this afternoon?"

"Don't know," I replied. I stopped there for a moment, then took the plunge. "Actually, I've been a little stressed lately. Took the afternoon off, but I didn't make any special plans-- I was going to go home, chill out a bit, you know how it is."

More silence hung in the air. Then Matt spoke. "Well, Jon--you know what I did back in the restaurant?" I looked at him. "When I went to the restroom, I called my office and told them I wasn't coming back in today."

Our eyes met, then we simultaneously burst out laughing with mingled embarrassment and relief. "Great minds think alike, I guess," I said.

Matt said, diffidently, "I guess I'm hoping you might want some company."

Jerk that I am, I let him hang in suspense for long seconds before I answered, "Sure, Matt, that would be great." His face lit up and I felt ashamed at having toyed with him.

"I'll follow you," he said.

Twenty minutes later we sat side by side on the couch in the living room of my apartment. He had refused my offer of a drink. I felt his knee touching mine. I reached out and began to massage it through the denim, then looked up into his face. He was gazing at me, not smiling. I raised one hand and began to stroke his cheek with my thumb. His eyes closed and his lips parted slightly. I leaned forward and placed my mouth on his, gently. I started to withdraw but he put his hand on the back of my head. I felt his questioning tongue on my lips and opened my own mouth in response. For long moments we kissed, gently, sweetly.

"That was nice," Matt said, when we finally broke apart. He reached up and began to unbutton my shirt.

Gentle and sweet was the way I remember that whole afternoon. It was a new experience for me, taking things so slow--Matt was, not surprisingly, a mixture of passion and inhibition. We sat naked on my living room floor on a quilt I spread out, kissing and holding one another. That way I could get a good view of his hairy chest and broad shoulders, surprising on such a slender frame. I masturbated his hard cock, slick with his copious secretions, while we kissed, then looked into his eyes, dark and liquid with desire.

He stroked my cock, a bit hesitantly, and that was about as far as he went. I was surprised that I was enjoying being with him this much, considering we were hardly doing anything sexual, but at last I decided I wanted a little more. Pushing him down gently, I got him on his back on the quilt. Positioning myself between his legs, I bent down and touched my lips to the cool skin on his flat stomach, faintly fragrant with soap. As I gradually worked my way downward, kissing and licking, I felt him stiffen. I looked up and saw that he had raised his head. "What's the matter?"

"I usually don't let guys do that," he said.

For the first time I felt impatient. "Matt, just relax, okay? Lie back and enjoy." I grasped his cock with my right hand, licked it once and took it in my mouth, knowing that would probably put a halt to his objections. Sure enough, I felt his already hard shaft turn to steel as I went down all the way. He sighed and his body relaxed. One hand reached down and began to caress my head.

I gave Matt my very best blow job that afternoon, slickening his organ with my saliva, sliding up and down on his shaft with tightly squeezed lips, pulling gently on his balls, flicking my tongue around the ridge of his swollen glans, and cleaning the precum out of his piss slit as fast as it flowed out. Soon I had him groaning and writhing on the floor under me.

"Jon, I'm going to cum," he said finally, trying to wriggle away. Making muffled negative noises, I held him firmly in place, picking up my pace. "I don't want to cum in your mouth... please... oh god," he finally moaned, arching his body upward. I let his cum fill my mouth before swallowing it. Finally I let him go and rose, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Matt lay sprawled on the quilt, arms flung out, still breathing hard, his eyes closed. Finally he opened them and looked at me. I was relieved when he smiled. "That was great," he said.

"I could tell you liked it." I saw a stray drop of cum on the shaft of his cock, bent down and licked it up. "I enjoyed every drop."

"I'm going to be absolutely useless for the next hour," he said.

"No problem," I said.

"But you didn't cum."

I looked at Matt lying there, his legs apart, his cock softening, his chest still rising and falling a bit faster than normal. The expression on his face was sleepy and relaxed. For the first time since we met I could see no trace of anxiety or longing in his eyes. "Like I said, no problem."

"Thanks, Jon," he said, rising to a sitting position and putting his arms around me. I returned the hug, surprised at my growing affection for the man. I carried him down with me as I lay back on the floor. Matt stretched out full length, his head resting on my left shoulder, his face toward mine, his eyes closed. I put my left arm around him and stroked his hair with my other hand. He put his arm across my chest and snuggled closer, making a little noise of contentment.

"Comfortable?" I asked.

He opened his eyes and smiled. "And how," he said.

I don't know for how long we lay there, not speaking. Finally he stirred and kissed me. "Coming to life again?" I said. He smiled in response and continued kissing me softly, on my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, working his way down to my throat and chest. He reached my right nipple and began to kiss it. I drew in my breath sharply. His mouth was drawing exquisite sensations.

"Oh Jesus, that's sweet," I said.

Matt switched to the other one, pausing only to say, "You have a great chest, Jon."

He spit into one of his hands, reached down, found my cock, hard again, and began to stroke it, his mouth still on my tit. My hands wandered over his body as I sighed with pleasure. He sat up and began to masturbate me in earnest. In a few moments I groaned and blew my load across my chest and stomach. The first spurt was forceful enough that it hit my chin. I lay back, my arm flung across my face, chest heaving with release. Slowly I came back down to earth. I uncovered my face, opened my eyes, and looked up to find Matt gazing down at me, smiling.

"Gosh, you cum a lot," he said.

"Your fault," I replied. "Thanks, that was wonderful." It had been a long time since a hand job had turned me on that much.

"My pleasure," he said. "Can I help you get cleaned up?"

"Bathroom's behind you to your left," I said. He got a towel and wiped me off. I sat up and looked at him.

"What is it?" Matt asked.

I shook my head. "Matt, you are something else."

He smiled again. "Thanks, I think."

"You are one hot looking man."

He actually blushed. "Aw no, I'm not."

"Matt, when a guy you've just messed around with compliments your body, the correct reply is: 'thank you.'"

He grinned like a little boy. "Well, thank you."

I leaned forward, cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. "You're welcome. Want to take a shower?"

"Only if it's with you," he said.

I wanted to tell him many things at that moment--how bizarre the whole idea of my making it with a married man really was. How exquisite being with him had been, and how bizarre that was too, because what we had done had been hardly sex at all by my standards. How my feelings for him were growing out of all proportion to the length of time I had known him, or how much I really knew about him. But I couldn't put any of this into words. So I stayed silent and enjoyed my view of his muscled back and dimpled butt as I followed him into the bathroom. I must have had a premonition about just how little I was going to be able to see Matt without his clothes on.

Months later in a hotel room in another city, when we finally had some private time together again, I said to him in frustration, "If I'd known how hard this was going to be, I never would have invited you back to my place."

"I know, Jon," he said. "I'm sorry."

Just keeping in touch with Matt was not difficult--he was online almost every night, and always hailed me with a cheerful hello. I knew about all his family activities, his ups and downs at work and with his finances.

We exercised together occasionally at lunchtime, after we discovered we both belonged to the same gym. This didn't work very well. Matt, being a competitive runner, left me in the dust. When he ran my pace on the indoor track, I felt as if he were hanging back against his will. Working out was more fun. I couldn't keep from watching Matt's muscles bulge out as he worked the weight machines, of course. Showering with him was an exercise in frustration, trying not to get an erection at the sight of him naked. Matt was a bit of a tease. With a broad grin on his face, he would flash his dick at me from a distance in the shower when no one was around, or when other occupants' backs were turned. I had my revenge now and then. I would cop a feel standing next to him at the lockers, or grab his cock when we were alone together in the shower and stroke it to erection. "Jon, quit it! Someone might come in," he would hiss, simultaneously aghast and delighted. Still, locker-room horseplay was no substitute for what I really wanted.

Not that there was much prospect of doing more if we ever did manage to get together again. In our chats online Matt made it clear that what we had done that afternoon was the limit of his sexual activity with men. I was secretly determined to change that.

We had lunch together frequently, most often at a small, nondescript Indian restaurant with surprisingly good and cheap food, halfway between our respective places of employment. I enjoyed eating with him--he was easy on the eye, of course, and at least for a while, hearing about life with a wife and children was interesting, since I had never been close friends with any straight men.

"Do you think your wife suspects?" I asked him once, during one of these meals, a few months after our afternoon tryst.

He considered the question. "I think she knows that there's stuff I don't talk to her about. She says I spend too much time online. I tell her it's work related."

Matt's job included communicating with people in the business all over the world, so this was not unconvincing.

"Well, not that I know that much about women, but I have gay friends who used to be married. They all say that when they finally told their wives, the first thing they said was, 'I knew it.' Besides, there's one thing about you that's a dead giveaway, Matt."

"What's that?" He looked worried.

"No straight man could possibly look that good from behind in jeans. You're out whether you like it or not."

"Aw Jon," he said, blushing, "You're such a tease."

A silence, then Matt said, "So you really think she knows about me and isn't saying anything, Jon?"

"Maybe she doesn't want to know," I said. "She might have taken a look at what she has. A nice house in a good part of town. An SUV to drive. Two great kids who keep her busy and don't get into trouble at school. You, or part of you, at least. Maybe she's added it all up and decided it's not worth rocking the boat."

"That sounds so--cold and calculating. Christine's not like that."

"Don't kid yourself, bud," I said, "We're all totaling the balance, all the time, whether we know it or not. You've done yours and decided to stay married. I did mine at the end of last month and decided you were still worth keeping around."

Matt blinked--the last sentence had come out more sharply than I had intended. "I know we don't see each other enough, Jon. I'm sorry about that."

"We haven't seen each other at all, Matt, except for lunch, the gym and that Saturday in the parking garage."

He had the grace to lower his head in embarrassment at the memory of that hasty meeting in the deserted company garage. He had told his wife he had forgotten some paperwork at the office and slipped out for an hour. His eyes were wide with need, his cock hard. I had deep-throated him in the front seat of the Ford Explorer, the denim of his jeans rough against my face, his hand pressing against the back of my head. After I had swallowed his load, he had gone to pick up his son and take him to soccer practice.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "I'll see what I can do, Jon. I promise." Matt's refusal to make plans for us more than a day in advance drove me crazy. I knew it was because he felt guilty about the whole thing, but understanding that didn't make it any easier. We finally arranged another afternoon together a couple of weeks later. It was a disaster that almost finished us.

That morning I called him at the office and left a message telling him when I'd be home. When I got to my place, there was a message from him asking where I was, and that he was waiting for my call. I called and left another message telling him that I was now home. After waiting the rest of the afternoon, I gave up in disgust, sure that he had stood me up.

Much later that evening, after I had gone out, gotten drunk and ultimately staggered home alone, I checked my e-mail. There was a note from Matt. "Jon, I'm so sorry. I just got home and re-checked my voice mail and found twenty messages, including two from you. Obviously my pager is screwed up. It never told me I had any calls. I don't know what to say-you have every right to be mad. Let me know if and when you want to talk to me."

At that moment, I didn't care whether I ever saw or talked with him again. I went to bed, slept heavily and woke up with a pounding head. There were no calls or messages from him that day at work. I had to give him credit for that.

I stayed offline that evening too--slowly I had conceded that the whole snafu, when it came down to it, had not been his fault. I just didn't feel ready to chat again as if nothing had happened. I was sitting reading the paper with the TV on, feeling odd at the unaccustomed activity, when the phone rang.

"Jon?" Matt's voice said. "Don't hang up, please?"

Momentarily taken aback, I said nothing. Matt never called me at home or in the evening, when he was with his family. He said, "Are you still there?"