Chapter 9 – Chapter 9

The 19th Hole

(Part Nine; From Michael's POV)

When we were settled into bed to sleep, Hunter asked if he could tell me something without me getting mad. I said sure.

"The Boys bet me today that I couldn't take whatever it was that you were swinging."

"You talked to them about that?"

"Sure."

"So, they all know you're gay."

"Sure. We've been friends forever. They know everything about me."

"Are any of them gay?"

"Nah. We all did some gay shit when we were teens, but I'm the only one it stuck to."

"Does your family know?" I asked. Hunter's family was a prominent one in Republican politics, both in Missouri and nationally.

"Of course," he said, matter of factly. The 18 years between my birth and his included a cultural revolution that made his reality so much different from mine.

We sat quietly for a bit, then I asked, "Did you have this whole thing planned?"

"Yeah. Sure. I thought someone would break your heart, you'd come into my bar to try to stitch it back together with a bottle of gin, fall apart in a room of strangers, and then allow me to help you home where I could prey upon your weakness and convince you to fuck me. My crystal ball is that fucking clear." He smiled as he said it.

"You should put it to better use." I smiled back.

"Seriously, I've been flirting with you for the two years you've been coming into my bar. At first, I didn't think you were gay. Then, I didn't think you were anything. You talked to no one but me, and you barely talked to me. I tried like hell to get you to take me home, but you seemed like you had no idea what I as up to. . . . Your density or obtuseness or whatever it was pissed me off. I talked about my frustration to The Boys, so they were surprised when you showed up with me today for the float. We were all surprised when you climbed out of the water in your board shorts. They hid nothing. The Boys told me there was no way I could take it, and I assured them I could. I'm not a whore or anything, but I know my capabilities."

"You did take it."

"Barely. You're going to ruin me for everyone else."

"I hope so," I said, carelessly. I was not usually careless.

"Me, too," he said, carefully and smiling.

Hunter slept soundly. I did not. I was in tumult. I had gone from despondence to elation in 24 hours. I was on a wild roller coaster, and my constitution was made for the merry-go-round. I needed to see my therapist. Fast.

I left before he woke up. It was characteristic of me. The morning after is always awkward, so I try like hell to avoid it.

I wrote on Hunter's bathroom mirror with a bar of soap: "Thank U. Great day. Better night. XOXO, Michael." It was an uncharacteristically informal and open message for me.

*****

I was in my therapist's office for two hours over lunch on Monday. I explained to her all that had happened in the past two days.

She was not helpful. As for Michael, she told me my plan to try to stay in touch with him was a foolish, self-destructive one. She assured me it would be hard on him and harder on me, the equivalent or ripping fresh stitches out each time I realized he was with Turner and not with me.

As for Hunter, she told me there was a reason the lines were longer for roller coasters than for merry-go-rounds; she pointed out how many times in our 5 years together I had talked about what I could not have; and she assured me the road I insisted on traveling – refusing to give myself to anyone who might actually take me – was a prescription for a lifetime of heartache and loneliness. It didn't have to be, but it likely was. Finally, she told me that I might consider thinking of reasons things might work with Hunter rather than listing all the reasons why I was sure they couldn't and wouldn't.

I left her office angry. I felt like she defaulted to the same pat advice each and every time we met, always urging me to focus on the positives rather than the negatives (I was sick to death of her "glass half full versus half empty" tripe). As I look back, I realize there was a reason for her constant advice; I needed it, but wouldn't heed it. Despite all I had achieved, I remained the pensive boy in a rural Missouri trailer waiting for things to go wrong, because they always did.

I couldn't go back to work. Instead, I drove to Forest Park and walked the trail around the perimeter, taking an honest inventory of where I was and what I wanted from life. I had always been looking toward the future, toward a time when drunken parents and a trailer were visible only in my rearview mirror, toward a time when I was making real money and not living the meager life of a student, toward a time when whomever I was with realized I was their destiny and not an interlude in their otherwise straight life. I had never lived for today, for the here and now, for the life that was right in front of me.

I also had never tried to give myself to someone who could have me. I am sure it was some fucked up avoidance or defense mechanism; open yourself only to one who was not open to you.

By the end of my walk, I was desperate to see Hunter. I'd like to claim I had an epiphany during my walk, but that would be trite and untrue. I was just lonely.

I'd have texted him, but I realized I had no contact information for him. I decided to drive to his condo. If he wasn't home, I'd wait for him.

I stopped and bought flowers on the way. I had never given anyone flowers before.

Hunter was, in fact, not home when I got to his door. I turned on music, leaned back on his steps, and turned my face to the sun. I loved the feeling of sun soaking into my skin.

I was in another world when Hunter opened the door behind me.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you."

"It's the middle of the afternoon. Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Nope. I should be right here." I handed Hunter the flowers. The sun and the wait had not been good for them; they were a little wilted. He looked at them quizzically.

"They'd have been a more romantic gesture about an hour ago," I offered, semi-apologetically.

"I've never received flowers before."

"I've never given flowers before."

"You look hot."

"Thank you."

Hunter laughed to himself. "Well, that too. But, I meant, hot as in temperature. You're soaked with sweat."

He was right. I'd gotten so lost in my thoughts, I hadn't realized I had sweated through my shirt and part of my grey poplin suit.

I followed Hunter into his condo. He dropped the flowers on the table, latched the door behind me, and pinned me to the door with a deep, open mouthed kiss. I held his face while his hands worked my tie, my belt, my shirt, and my zipper.

Hunter broke the kiss so he could rip his shirt over his head, tug his jeans off, and step out of his boxer briefs. While he did, I slipped my shoes off, stepped out of my slacks, and pulled off my jacket and shirt.

Hunter lowered himself and took me in his mouth. He knew what he was doing, working me in and out and around while he played with my balls and rubbed my stomach. I was so turned on by him, I could easily come. I told him so.

"You keep that up, and I'm gonna come."

He pulled off my dick long enough to say, "I want you to come." I did almost as soon as he went back to work, filling his mouth and his throat. When I was finished, Hunter kissed his way up my body and then shared my cum with me, the first "snowball" I had ever received.

As we kissed, I took him in my hand and started jerking him. He came quickly all over my stomach and crotch. I wiped some up with my hand, and held it out to him.

"Turnabout is fair play," I said. He licked some of his cum from my fingers. I finished off what he missed.

We went to his bedroom. We spent the rest of that Monday kissing and sucking and fucking and sleeping and waking up and kissing and sucking and fucking all over again. We left the bed only to get wine and cheese and rinse the cum and sweat off our bodies.

Six hours into our marathon, I was sitting against Hunter's headboard, his head on my shoulder and his hand wandering through my chest, stomach, and pubic hair. I was spent. He was re-tooling.

I looked down at him, and he turned his face toward mine.

"You came along at just the right time," I said.

"What do you mean? I've been right in front of you for two years."

"I was blind."

"Nope. You just weren't ready."

"You're right. I am now, though."

"I'm glad."

I wasn't sure I was, in fact, ready. But, I was going to try to be.

****

Paper is the traditional gift for a one year anniversary, so I gave Hunter a vintage edition of Grey's Anatomy. He gave me a ticket for a weekend in San Francisco. It was his favorite city, and I had never been.

A lot had happened in the year. When things got tough, I tried to pull back. Hunter wouldn't let me. He was patient and kind. I tried to convince myself I deserved him. But, I continued to doubt that I did.

When I tried to erect obstacles, Hunter knocked them down. I met Hunter's family, and Hunter's obvious happiness helped them overcome their resistance to our age difference. They didn't care at all that Hunter was gay.

I moved to Hunter's condo. I had spent most of my time there since what we now called "Marathon Monday." After about six months, Hunter convinced me to sell my condo, make a balloon payment on my outstanding student loans, and make formal what was informal.

I did not become one of The Boys, but they put up with my intrusion into their circle more than I expected. I made the mistake of telling them one too many stories about life in the boot heel, and they now called me Meat. I didn't mind. It was obviously a term of affection, not derision.

I was anxious about how little I brought to the table. I had no family and almost no friends. Still a government employee, I had little money.

Hunter didn't mind. He said he had enough family and money for the both of us, and that we'd make friends together.

I was also anxious about our age difference. But, Hunter definitely made me younger than I was. With him, I slowly freed myself from whatever it was that made me old when I was young. With him, I was getting younger as I got older.

I had a long way to go emotionally. But, for the first time since I started seeing her, my therapist seemed optimistic. And, finally, so did I.

As Hunter and I walked the Wharf holding hands, I had no idea how long the ride would last. But, I was glad to be on it. And, for the first time since I could remember, I was not worried there was no more track over the next rise.

Epilogue

Happily settled with Hunter, I decided to reach out to Kyle and apologize for how poorly I had handled meeting Turner. I had been surprised, and I had not handled the surprise well.

I tracked Kyle down and wrote him a brief note:

Kyle,

I must apologize for the way I reacted last Summer when you and your family visited. I was surprised you were married to a man, and I did not react well to the surprise.

I am happy that you have found your way and someone to accompany you on it. As I reflect, that I am not that person is almost certainly on me. I could and should have reached out to you after I left. I chose not to do that, and choices have consequences. In this instance, it cost me at least a friend, if not more.

It was, after all the time that has passed, great seeing you and meeting your children (especially my namesake). If you are ever back this way, I'd love to see you. In the meantime, endless happiness to you and yours.

Yours,

Michael

I was surprised to receive a reply within a few weeks. It read only: "Thank you for the note. Turner's gone, but the kids are still here. Would love to see you soon. Would love to talk to you sooner." He included his mobile number.

"Turner's gone" rattled around in my head. I wanted to call Kyle, but I knew I shouldn't. Still . . . .

I went to Hunter with my problem. To my surprise, he urged me to call Kyle. I was a hotbed of insecurity. Hunter was a Brinks truck.

It was a fun call. Kyle told me Turner had left him for someone else, but they had run their course, and it was time for one of them to leave.

He told me how they had gotten the kids, and how Turner had left them without looking back. Now, Kyle was a single father of two and again trying to find his way.

I told him about Hunter. "He's how old and plays what?" he asked.

"23 and lacrosse."

"23 and lacrosse?"

"Yeah, isn't it awesome?"

"I guess so. It seems like a lot of work. I'm raising two kids. I don't want to date one."

I ignored the verbal slap and decided to parry back. "You would if you saw him."

"I'm googling him right now. . . . Holy shit, Michael, he's hot. He's also a scion. You know that right?"

"I do."

"You're a far cry from the boot heel now."

"I know."

As the call ended, we made plans to meet in Columbia for dinner the following Friday. Kyle told me to bring Hunter along.

Hunter refused to go. "You two need to meet alone," he said. "You have unfinished business. You don't need me there."

"I want you there."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"That's nice of you to say. But, you don't."

He was right. Even as Hunter helped me tear down the barriers I had erected over the years, there was one he could not touch, and that was the hope of Kyle. It was always lurking, as I wondered what might have been and what might yet be.

I was anxious and nervous as I left for Columbia. Hunter walked me to the car, kissed me good-bye, and whispered "come back to me" in my ear. As always, he could read my thoughts.

I sped to Columbia, excited to see Kyle. He was seated when I arrived. He stood, and we exchanged a brief but warm embrace. To my surprise, I felt nothing but the warmth of an old friend. Despite the lingering hope of what might yet be, I had moved on.

We sat and talked before ordering. As we did, I barely heard a word he said. I was thinking of Hunter and his "come back to me." I decided to do it. I apologized to Kyle and told him why I needed to leave. He responded that he was happy for me. I kissed his forehead and headed back to St. Louis and the man and the life I had finally given myself to and loved.

When I arrived home two hours earlier than Hunter expected me, our bedroom door was closed. I was suspicious, so I opened it slowly, only to find Hunter in bed, curled up in a ball. He was asleep. I climbed in behind him.

"What time is it?" he asked as he awoke.

"9:15," I answered.

"Did Kyle no show?"

"No, he was there."

"What happened? You're back too early."

"I was sitting across from him, thinking only of you, and I wanted to come back to you. So, I did, and here I am."

Hunter rolled into me. For the first time, I told him I loved him. Then, I kissed him as hard I could. I felt more barriers eroding as I did.