Sex in the Sky

“This story is intended for a mature audience who can legally view this material. It is not intended to be viewed by minors or anyone else prohibited by law to view such material. No part of the story may be reprinted or reproduced electronically without the express written permission of its author.

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*

I dreaded the news that I would again be accompanying my family to Naples for vacation. Now when you live in upstate New York, and your family invites you to Naples for a break from the winter cold, a person doesn’t often say “no”. But in my case, being an 18-year-old Senior in high school on Spring Break, I just wanted to hang with my buds. I had anticipated a whole week with my girlfriend without interference from my family, and I was secretly hoping that they’d leave me at the house alone. All my hopes were dashed when my Dad informed me that I’d be coming on the trip.

When my family arrived in Naples the third week of March, I was despondent. I was going to miss so much of what was going on back home with my friends. I was miserable, and I took every opportunity to make my family miserable as well. I guess the one bright spot was that my Dad had rented a nice house on the beach, and my room over-looked the beautiful gardens of the house next door. My two sisters had to share a room and my parents had their room downstairs.

For the first two days, I kept away from my family. My routine was the same. I’d don baggy shorts, a tee-shirt and head for the beach. I enjoyed walking the beach, and at least once a day, I’d do about a 6 mile run to work up a good sweat, and work off my frustrations. It was after one of these runs that I was about 100 yards from the house and stopped to catch my breath, my chest heaving a bit in the Florida heat.

“Would you like a cold drink? You sure look like you could use it.” I looked up to see a man about 50, slim and all tanned stepping off of his back deck with a large glass of ice water. I was flustered for a second, but I was thirsty too.

“Uh,,hi,,you know that does look good.” I took the drink of water and enjoyed its coolness in my throat. “Wow, thanks. I think I needed that.” I handed him back the glass smiling.

“You need to be careful of heat stroke here, son. I can see that you are in great shape, but nonetheless you need to keep your fluids up.” His tanned face showed genuine concern. I looked at him more closely. Yes, I’d say mid-forties to fifties, but he was in great shape. His shoulders were muscled, but not musclebound, his stomach was taut and flat, like a man much younger, and his thighs were large and powerful looking. He wore a red speedo style bathing suit that showed off his tan magnificently. “Feeling better?” His white teeth glistened in the sun and his bleached gray hair was startling in contrast to his golden tanned skin.

“Uh yes,,,fine now. Really thank you for the water.” I reached out and shook his hand in thanks, and started off down the beach towards our vacation house.

“Ok, you take care now. See you tomorrow.” Tomorrow? What a strange word to use. Not “later” or “sometime”, but “tomorrow”, as if there existed a plan to get together. I didn’t think another thing of it, and went back to my house for the rest of the day, but I could not get the image of him, and his wonderful smile out of my mind.

When I returned from my run the next morning, I made sure that I walked by the mysterious man’s house. It was dark however, and I couldn’t see any life. I was about to walk past when I heard a greeting. “Hey, good morning again.” I turned and could see that that man had been sitting on his porch, but hidden behind some plants, that shielded out the sun from the porch.

“Oh, hi” I replied, and waved, pausing in my walk, rivulets of sweat dripping down my back.

“Nice to see you again. You ran early this morning.”

“Well, I wanted to take your advice about avoiding heat stroke.” The man laughed a hearty laugh and got out of his chair. I could see that he was naked except for another Speedo bathing suit. This one was purple, and briefer, I almost mistook it for underwear until I saw the familiar Speedo logo.

He opened the door, “C’mon in. The juice is freshly squeezed.” Again, the welcoming smile. I paused and looked at him for a moment, and then I passed by him through the door and onto his porch. He invited me to a chair and sat opposite. There was indeed a large pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table. I quickly drank down one glass, and then poured myself another.

“My name is Ben by the way.” And he reached out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Todd.” I replied shaking his hand firmly.

Again the warm smile. “You are down here on vacation with your family?”

“Yes.” My short reply and the scowl on my face were obvious.

“Okay, let me guess. Most of your friends are having a way better time wherever they are hanging out, and you are down here with your family?”

I laughed and looked over at him. “Yes,,,well, that about sums it up Ben.” He laughed.

For the first time, I looked around and noticed that I could see through into the house from the open French doors. From the beach, much of the house was hidden by the huge lilacs that covered his porch. I looked in and saw a kitchen sparkling in silver and beyond the dining area I could see black leather couches and lots of books.

“Would you like to see?” Ben asked after he noticed where I was looking. He stood up and began to walk towards the door. He really moved with remarkable grace, his muscled thighs rippled as he walked. His purple Speedo hung well below his hips and clung to his behind like a second skin. I looked away. I had seen many of my mates on the swim team in similar racing suits. No big deal I thought. I got out of my chair and followed Ben into the open kitchen of the house.

“You live here with your family?” I asked.

“No. I live alone.” He offered no further explanation and instead showed me a beautifully decorated home. The den consisted of deep purple wood paneling and black leather chairs and couches. A large flat-screen plasma TV was mounted on the wall. Photographs of sports figures were mounted on the walls around the den. I could see photographs of a lot of Yankees, Reggie Jackson, Goose Gossage, Jeter, Mattingly. I could see more of Olympic athletes, Carl Lewis, etc. As I looked closer, I could see that many were autographed.

“Awesome set-up. Do you collect this stuff?”

“No, I actually took most of the photos. I was a sports photographer before I retired.”

“Sounds like an awesome job.”

“Well,” he laughed, “it was a job, and I got to travel and meet some interesting people.”

We continued touring through the house, until we came to an open area in the center of the house. It was more like an open courtyard, covered by tinted glass panels two stories above. It was filled with plants, and off to one side was a sunken hot tub. “Wow”, I said, as I appreciated all the smells of the flowers and the sunlight, “Must be great to have a hot babe in a place like this with the tub and all.”

Ben smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. My shoulder tingled under his firm touch. “That’s no tub. Come here, I’ll show you.” We walked together over to the tub and I could see now that it wasn’t a spa or anything like that. It was almost like a mini-swimming pool about 12 feet long and 6 feet wide. “Do you know how to swim?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. Ben, I’m on the swim team at my high school. Freestyle and backstroke.”

“Oh, I assumed you were a track and field man given the way you ran. That’s great. I’m a masters swimmer and I use this pool to train.”

I looked at him puzzled, and he laughed.

“You can create a current in the pool to swim against. Sort of like a stationary bike. It has very precise controls, right down to the stroke per minute. I usually try to do two miles a day. It’s peaceful and I can even hook up sound to earphones so I listen to music while I swim. For me it’s better without the constant flip turns.”

“That’s incredible”.

“Try it sometime this week when you are here. It takes a bit of getting used to, but once you do, it’s fantastic.”

I thanked Ben as we walked back out onto the porch. “I’m glad to have met you as well I,” he replied. “Don’t be a stranger this week, I’ve enjoyed your company.” All the while, his hand remained wrapped around mine, and the smile never left his face. I felt flushed a bit. Was he coming onto me? I wondered.

Now, I have no problem with gay people. I have a very cool uncle who is gay, and I know at least two kids in my senior class who are gay. Nice kids, although not close friends of mine. But I’ve never felt the object of gay affection, until now. As I walked along the beach back to my parents rented house, I felt very strange. On one hand I thought it was a little weird to feel that a man would seem to take a sexual interest in me. On the other hand, I felt a bit flattered. I was sure Ben probably had a long list of close friends and lovers and it felt strangely arousing that he would be interested in me. I wasn’t afraid at all, in fact I was flattered. I was sure even though Ben probably thought I was handsome, I suspected he knew that his interest in me wasn’t mutual. I was glad for his friendship, and I was sure he knew that had limits.

That night, as I lay in bed waiting for sleep, I thought of Ben. I remembered his touch on my shoulder and his firm grip as he shook my hand. I also remembered his body, his defined chest and powerful thighs. I also remembered the Speedo, how it clung to him like a second skin. Yes, I had noticed his ass in the Speedo, but I had also noticed his crotch too, hadn’t I? Yes, I remembered furtively looking where his Speedo had bulged out from between his legs. I saw the outline of his cock pointed across his hip. It was in a way I hadn’t noticed about my mates on the swim team.

I awoke the next morning, my shorts soaked from my semen.

I went out for a run the next morning. It was overcast and humid, and I wore light “onion skin” running shorts and a track shirt. After only a mile running, the skies turned much darker and an intense Florida-style thunderstorm started. I turned and started running back towards the house, slogging my way through the wet sand.

“Jesus I, get the hell out of the rain.” It was Ben waving to me from his back porch. In just the half a minute he was standing in the doorway I could see his white tee shirt getting soaked to the skin. I headed over and dashed onto his back porch.

“Holy shit, it really came on fast.”

Ben was laughing and soaked all at the same time. He pulled me onto the porch and shook the rain off of himself. I stared at him in his t-shirt, now transparent from the wet rain, and also his white jockey shorts, soaked and equally transparent. I could see his cock, outlined and flesh colored in his white jockeys.

“You know Todd you’ve got to stay out of the rain. Come on then, get in side. Do you drink coffee? Here’s a towel.” He tossed me one towel, and wrapped another around his waist after peeling off his soaked t-shirt.

He poured us both coffee and we stared out at the beach and ocean from his deck. It was raining hard, and the water was black. “I’m not sure I would have made it all the way back to our house,” I laughed. “So much for running today.”

“Yes, I don’t think this is going to break anytime soon I. Do you want to call your parents? Tell them you are safe here and having coffee and you can stay as long as you like until the rain breaks.”

“Yes,,,I think that’s a good idea.” Ben showed me the phone and then left me to make the call. My parents were relieved I had found shelter and told me to come home after it breaks up, or if they needed to, they would come get me. After I hung up, I followed Ben into the covered courtyard at the rear of his house. He was standing by the mini-pool.

“Todd, listen, your day might not be a total loss. You can swim in my mini-pool if you like.” I looked at the pool. I definitely wanted to try it.

“I’d love to try it.” He pointed me to a cabana off of the courtyard where he told me I could get changed. He had left a bathing suit for me. He headed off to another part of the house to get changed as well.

When I entered the cabana, there was a single white Speedo bathing suit hanging neatly from a hanger on the hook. It was similar to suits I had worn during swim meets. Only after slipping it on, did I realize it was really more bikini style than competition. The one inch side-bands accentuated my thighs and the pouch at my crotch. I briefly looked in the dressing mirror, and I could see the outline of my cock through the thin white nylon. With my hairless tanned body I looked almost like those models in the International Male catalogs that came occasionally in the mail.

I was sure that Ben had picked this suit with the intention of seeing me wear it. It was fine, I thought to myself. Ben had been so nice to me the last few days, not creepy at all. If it gave him some thrill to see me in this bathing suit I didn’t mind at all. In a way, I felt it was something I could do to make him happy. I felt a tingle in my loins at that thought, and I could see my cock begin to thicken in the Speedo. I took a breath and walked back out into the courtyard.

Ben was crouched by the pool adjusting some controls on a panel. He turned when he heard me approach and stood up staring at me. It was obvious to me now that he did like looking at my body. His eyes traveled down my chest to my hips and then to my crotch. Ben was wearing a rose-colored Speedo, which in the morning light, looked perfect with his bronze tan. “My god I, I’m glad I don’t have to race against you. Look at all those muscles.” Again he smiled broadly at me, making me feel like we could entrust our deepest secrets to each other. “Are you ready to try it?”

I looked down into the pool and Ben handed me some racing goggles. As I climbed into the pool, I realized that it wasn’t very deep, 5 feet, and it was about room temperature, so there was no first chill in the water when I slid in. “Okay, now how do I do this?”

“It takes a bit of getting used to. It’s almost like you’ll be gliding on a continuous wave. You’ll feel the current begin to circulate against you and must begin to swim against it. The trick is maintaining buoyancy and swimming so that you remain in the center of the pool and don’t go smacking into the forward end, or swimming so slowly that your feet hit the back end. Ok, I’ll try a bit of current and we’ll see how you do.”

Ben sat next to a control panel, with his feet dangling into the pool. Through the darkened goggles I looked again at his crotch, staring for a moment at the rose-colored pouch nestled between his thighs. ‘God, what is going on in my head?” I shook off these thoughts and lay forward in the water as I began to feel the current build against me.

At first a few quick strokes brought me crashing into the forward end of the pool, and then as Ben adjusted the current, it sometimes pushed me back against the rear. Ben laughed at my efforts. “See I told you it was hard. Here I’m going to set it on my training speed, and I’ll hold you up in the water so you can get a feel for the buoyancy before you begin. Ok?”

“Yes, sure.” ‘How was this going to work?’ I asked myself. Ben slid into the pool and waded over to me.

“Okay, now you lean forward and I’ll hold you up with my hands on the current. I can pull you back or forward depending on how you adjust. Okay? I promise not to drown you.” Again the smile. I nodded in agreement and started to lean forward. Ben placed one hand on my chest and another on my left thigh, the side he was standing against. He held me floating in the water as the current began and I started to slowly go into a freestyle stroke.

Ben moved down my side a bit so that my arms could extend for the stroke. His left hand traveled down my stomach and now held me up placed against my lower stomach, below the belly button, and just above the edge of my Speedos. His other hand moved up my thigh, away from my kicking lower legs and he held me afloat by the hip.

It felt odd to me at first. I was concentrating on my stroke, but his hands on my body were definitely distracting. His touch was firm, and yet safe. I felt entrusted to him and I was not afraid to let myself trust Ben completely. Even as I felt two of his fingers slide over the top edge of my Speedo I wasn’t nervous. He was helping me, and if my thanks was letting him flirt a bit with me, that was fine. I was really ok with it. I liked Ben.

In the middle of these thoughts, I felt Ben release me and I floated free in the water. This time my stroke was timed perfectly and I merely floated free in the middle of pool, swimming steadily against the current, and yet not moving. I could see as I rotated that Ben was still in the pool watching me. It was strange seeing his face as I took a breath above the surface and then as I rotated beneath, I could see his thighs and crotch beneath the water.

After about 20 minutes of this, I stopped and Ben hit a button and the current ceased. I came up out of the water looking at Ben who was smiling broadly. “Wow, Todd, you are a fast learner. It took me almost two weeks to get the technique down properly.” As I neared him I had my hand upraised in a “high-five” motion to Ben. He reciprocated and as he did he threw his other arm around my shoulder and gave me a brief hug in the water. I laughed, but I enjoyed it as I felt his firm chest up against mine. It was only momentary, but as we pushed to separate our thighs and crotches came into contact and I felt the muscles of his thighs against mine and I felt his nylon covered cock press against my cock. We both paused a second and then started moving towards the side. I purposely turned to face Ben and I hoisted myself into a sitting position in the pool. As my hips slid out of the water and over the side, I could see Ben staring at my Speedo. I looked down and I was startled by how the wet bathing suit clung to every centimeter of my cock which was clearly semi-aroused!! The white Speedo perfectly outlined every part of my cock, from the ridge-line around the head to the balls hanging beneath my shaft. I laughed nervously and flicked the waist of my Speedo to allow air in and reduce the ability of the nylon to cling to my cock.

Ben got out of the pool, his back to me, but not before I saw the front of his Speedo distended, his cock also in semi-arousal. He hurried towards my cabana and picked up the clothes I had left there, keeping his back to me as best he could. “Todd, I should have thrown these right into the dryer. I’ll do that now and then grab something for you to wear. There are towels in the shower already.”

I walked over to the cabana, under Ben’s steady gaze. What could I do really? I knew he was looking at me, looking at me in my bathing suit, which hid virtually nothing. Ben was a great guy, and I took secret pleasure in knowing that Ben was enjoying the view, and yes, maybe he was flirting a bit, but it all seemed so,,,safe. I knew that Ben would never do a thing to hurt me.

In the shower, I peeled off my Speedo, and released my cock to the warm water cascading over my body. I was surprised at how aroused I was. My cock was at full hardness. I thought to myself, ‘my God, I mean I’m not gay or anything. I guess it really doesn’t matter, sexual energy is sexual energy and it’s always arousing knowing that someone was thinking of you in a sexual way.’ My soapy hand wrapped around the length of my cock, and I stroked myself slowly at first, my curled fingers caressing the ridge of my cockhead with every stroke. The strokes became quicker then, and immediately I felt the surge within my loins and my cock exploded in streams of cum in the shower. I felt my knees go weak as my testicles emptied themselves in a delicious torrent of pleasure.

His nose was beneath Dmitry’s balls. His tongue was darting in and out of his asshole and his mouth appeared to be kissing and sucking in time with it. I couldn’t know what it felt like but I could see Dmitry’s reaction to it: a stupefied surrender. Dmitry was wholly lost in the sensation of his buddy’s lips and tongue caressing and invading him. Then Adam wet a finger and added it to the mix, sliding it slowly into Dmitry until it was completely buried.

A sort of non-stop humming noise was coming from somewhere within Dmitry’s throat.

“Yes,” he purred. “Please, yes.”

Adam started sliding the finger in and out, his mouth alternating between Dmitry’s balls and the sensitive rim of his asshole. I watched the finger, fascinated by the way Dmitry’s ass seemed to suck it in greedily, then cling to it longingly as it withdrew. Adam added a second finger, twisting them against each other in a motion that pushed Dmitry over the edge. The sonorous humming stopped and now a torrent of obscenities and blasphemies burst from him as he found his own dirty slice of heaven.

“Jesus, fuck. Fuck, Demi, Jesus, fuck.”

Leaving two fingers buried in Dmitry’s ass, Adam returned his attention to his cock, stroking it with his free hand while he mouthed the head. He took deep, slurping dives down Dmitry’s shaft and I could tell from the way Dmitry arched his back that Adam was curling his fingers up to meet his plunging mouth. The combination had Dmitry thrashing and groaning.

“I’m going to come. I’m going to come, Demi.”

“No,” Adam said, surprising me. “Wait.” He withdrew his fingers and gave a final lingering lick with his tongue. “Together,” he said. He got to his knees, pulling Dmitry up to join him. “I want us to come together. I want to see you and feel you when I come, when you come.”

I watched their mouths join, wondering what it tasted like: Adam’s tongue fresh from Dmitry’s asshole. There was no hesitation on either’s part. Their lips and tongues met as their hands moved downward. They pressed their cocks together, their hands circling them where they joined, a sliding mass of hardness and wet. There was no wrestling now–only love making as they kissed deeply and hungrily, separating briefly to look into each other’s eyes or at their bodies rubbing rhythmically against one another. They sighed and mumbled: Demi, Demi, it was all Demi.

I could only slip my hand beneath my skirt, could only watch as they drove themselves–and me–closer to climax, could only imagine the sticky heat of two jets of cum simultaneously shooting skyward. I could see the cum coat them as they continued to stroke each other: the way it splashed up, then slid back down, their sweat-soaked torsos. I butted my head between them, licking at the streaks of cum, not caring if I licked them off Dmitry or Adam as they kissed and kissed and kissed above me.

“Thank you, Demi,” I heard Adam say. “That was all I ever wanted.”

“All?” Dmitry teased.

“Well, all that and more.”

“Here’s to more,” Dmitry said. I felt him pull Adam closer, heard them kiss. “And here’s to Sara,” he said, raising me to their level. He kissed me, taking their mingled cum into his mouth.

“And to Sara,” Adam agreed. “Thank you, Sara.”

Yes, thank you, Sara. Thank you, Sara, indeed.

“If you enjoyed this story, please send me feedback. Hearing from readers like you is what makes the time I spend writing these stories worthwhile.”

I never went back to that bar, or any of the bars in town. In fact, the incident shook me so badly that I dropped out of college and moved to another city. A few months later, when I’d settled in and there were fewer bad dreams and I didn’t jump so much at shadows…I made a vow.

I would never, metaphorically speaking, drive drunk again. On my mother, on my soul. Never again.

#

A year later I was still sober, so to speak. I hadn’t visited a bar or club once, and I was gainfully employed parking cars at a nice restaurant. It was all good, until the restaurant went out of business and I found myself out of a job. I started searching for work. It was while I was having lunch at this burger joint that someone slapped me on the shoulder and scared the hell out of me.

“Eric!” It was Bob. He was dressed in tight, Armani jeans and a chic, silk shirt. And he not only remembered me, but invited me to join him and his three friends. They were all about the same age as Bob, all at the start of promising careers, and welcoming enough. One, in particular, caught my eye. Shiny black hair, bronze skin and a mouth that smiled warmly.

Arthur.

Once I’d settled in, the usual happened, the guys started talking around or past me. Which was fine, until Bob unexpectedly put his hand on my shoulder and announced: “This here is the best designated driver on the planet.”

He might as well have held up an empty chair and said it. I’d faded into the furniture and eyes blinked as the guys tried to remember who I was.

“Really?” Yoshi asked. “How much do you charge?”

Charge?

I’d never really thought about it, but of course there were drivers out there who took a fee for their services. Limo drivers at one end, taxis at the other, and everything else in between. Why not charge for driving people around?

Bob and the others asked for my number, and, being that I was running low on money, I gave it to them. They were my only customers for those first few weeks, which was just as well. They didn’t mind piling into the back of my used Acura. Very soon, however, Bob and his buddies were recommending me to others, and my number started making the rounds at nightclubs and bars.

Business picked up, so much so that I rented a black minivan. It could manage eight passengers, had automatic sliding doors, a DVD player, a navigation system and a satellite radio. I stocked it with plenty of water and air-sickness bags, a must given my usual customers.

That’s how I stumbled ass-backwards into my calling. I wasn’t a regular taxi service taking travelers to the airport or shoppers to stores. I was a “designated driver,” exclusive to the city’s nightlife. My rates were higher than those of a taxi, but far lower than those of a limo, as I was neither as utilitarian as the one nor as luxurious as the other. Price depended on number of passengers and hours of service.

Some nights I simply fetched people from the clubs and drove them home. Most evenings, however, I was hired to drop passengers off and then pick them back up at a special time. If they paid extra, I’d wait for them in the parking lot or, if they allowed it, sit at a table drinking soft drinks and watching the bachelorettes or birthday boys as they celebrated. Now and then I’d take my clients on a crawl from one bar to another, even out to a late night supper or taco stand.

And, yes, on rare occasions, I ended up helping the none-too-sober to their doors. But that’s as far as I went. Once they were over the threshold, they were on their own. I never entered a domicile.

I have stories, of course. The good, the bad, and the bizarre. There were the warm-hearted divorcées who wanted to set me up with one of their daughters, until I confessed my sexual orientation. Then they offered me one of their sons. There was the quartet of elderly barflies who had me play punk music. They liked to lean out the windows screaming the lyrics and spitting at people. There were the football players who drunk themselves sick so they could puke on a rival team’s goal post. And there were the debutants who immortalized their coming out by mooning truckers.

Men were more likely to order me around, but also more likely to pay me extra for my trouble. Ladies, who I always handed in and out of the van, thanked me, but didn’t tip. My biggest epiphany, however, was that I liked playing chauffer. I liked washing and polishing the van for its evenings out, vacuuming the rugs, and re-stocking the DVD selection. I loved knowing all the good short-cuts, and going over maps for the best routes. I liked, as well, feeling that I’d prevented accidents and arrests. DUI laws in our state were strict and it only made sense to have someone like me behind the wheel if liquor was going to be on the menu.

I even enjoyed chatting up my customers who, drunk or sober, were “my” passengers. I took a certain pride in getting them safely to and from their homes.

Strangest of all was that I had regulars, which suggested that some people favored me. Or at least my driving. Among those regulars were Bob and his buddies. Sometimes their number swelled as they invited along neighbors, siblings, friends or dates, but most of the time it was just the core foursome: Bob, John, Yoshi…and Arthur.

Arthur. I was mesmerized by his muscled arms, by the way his trousers hugged his butt. He’d brush a black tendril of hair behind his ear and I’d gulp with desire. His voice could raise goosebumps on my flesh, and when those warm, dark eyes fixed on me, my cock would twitch and my pulse would race.

He was perfect casting for the gay wet dream of a classical warrior. Masturbating in the shower, I’d envision him wearing a Spartan helmet and sandals. As hot water dripped off my hard-on, I’d imagine myself his captive. Forced to suck his cock, and then, turning round, take it between my spread ass cheeks.

And yes, he was gay. On nights when he alone called me for a ride, he usually fell into the back seat with some sexy twink. The two of them would spend the ride sucking tongues and working their hands down each others pants. I did my best to keep my eyes on the road and off my rearview. But there was no suppressing a shiver when I heard Arthur say things like: “I’m going to give it to you so hard.”

God, what I wouldn’t do to have him say that to me. Sober.

I could have passed my feelings off as mere lust, except that when the gang piled into the van, Arthur usually rode shotgun. Which meant I got to know him as a person.

“So, Eric, is this what you wanted to be when you grew up?” he’d ask, and flash that smile of his. Which flustered me. Why, I would wonder, was he wasting his time talking to me?

“I kinda dropped out of college,” I finally confessed on one drive home. “I was taking urban planning.”

He perked. “Really?”

“Yeah. I wanted to redesign streets and maps and such. What about you? Did you always want to create affordable housing?”

“Nope. I was into architectural history. Bauhaus in particular. I spent a year in Berlin. I still go back there when I can. I traveled to all the important sites, Weimar, Dressau…explored all the gay nightclubs, too. But I’ll save those stories for later.” He grinned. “Anyway, one of the original, philosophical intents of Bauhaus was to give everyone cheap, modern housing. What I do now isn’t too far from that. And I really like helping people become home owners.”

“And meanwhile you rent an apartment?”

He laughed. “I’m waiting for the right guy. How about you? Seems like you’re always on the road. Don’t you want a real home?”

I shrugged. I daydreamed a lot, but never about anything like that.

As if these short chats weren’t torturous enough, whenever I drove the gang, Bob inevitably hired me for the night and invited me to join them. This gave me even more of a chance to agonize over Arthur.

“I never see you with anyone,” he remarked to me once.

“Naw,” I smiled nervously. Why was he asking me such a thing? “I’m a loner.”

“That right?” he murmured. His olive back eyes looked amused, so I guessed he figured the truth, and was probably making fun of me.

The holidays came and I put lights and a small, festive wreath on the minivan. Between Christmas parties and New Year’s Eve, I raked it in. I was so pleased that I took the initiative and mailed out fliers announcing a Valentine’s Day special (two couples for the price of one!). That was a great night. I loved watching the handing off of roses and endearments between those I ferried to and from romantic dinners. It made me feel like Cupid.

Hey, if I couldn’t get love myself, I could help others get it.

Spring arrived and as I felt quite proud of myself. I was making a descent living, I liked the work and I was my own boss. The one bump in the road was that I was still lonely. More lonely than ever. But I held to my vow: no hitting on the inebriated.

And then came Bob’s birthday celebration.

#

“What happened?” Arthur demanded yet again. He was kneeling on the mattress, his grip on my arm tight enough to cut off the blood flow.

“Nothing, nothing!” I lied. “You were drunk. I brought you in and helped you out of your clothes. You wanted me to stay and I stayed until I fell asleep.”

He was glowering. I wondered if he was suffering from a hangover.

“God, please don’t let him remember.”

“Something happened,” he insisted. “Come on. You can tell me while I pee.”

He dragged me into the bathroom, keeping a hold of me he aimed one handed. “I sleep in my shorts,” he went on. “So why would I ask you take off all my clothes?”

“Because you were drunk?”

“God damn it, Eric!” He gave his dick a shake and washed up, again one-handed. “I can tell from that look you’re giving me that you don’t want to say, but I’m not letting go of you till you do. How fucked up was I? What embarrassing thing did I do? Or say? Did I propose?”

Don’t I wish! “I told you. Nothing happened. You didn’t even kiss me.” That last was sadly true.

“I can’t believe you’re shitting me like this.” He dragged me back toward the bed and finally released me. “Jesus Christ, you’re shaking. What the fuck–?”

His face went ashen. So much so that I thought he was going to throw up. His expression altered from a mix of annoyance and amusement to horror.

“Wait,” he breathed. “I remember. I remember what happened. “Everything” that happened.”

Oh. Crap.

“To be Continued…”