Chapter 8 – Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I hated the date as I scanned in to class. July 18, the first of the last three full days before Luke returned to the U.S.. Army. Unexpectedly, he had shattered my isolation. Now, I couldn't imagine him leaving. I felt like he might be my savior.

I found no peace in downward dog or any other pose. Halfway through class, I left. If I had only three more days with Luke, I didn't want to waste any of them in a yoga class that I now visited more out of habit than enjoyment.

Luke was in the kitchen in only his underwear when I got back home. My early return surprised him.

"I thought class was until 7."

"It is."

"Why'd you leave early?"

"Can't say."

"I was making coffee and breakfast. Take over, and I'll go put some shorts on."

"You're fine like that. No one can see in."

"I feel self-conscious."

"Fine," I answered, slipping my shorts off. "Now we're both in our underwear."

"You're crazy."

"Maybe, but I feel less so every day," I admitted, again taking a risk.

We took our coffee and our fruit on the porch at the small table. When we were seated, I put my right foot on top of Luke's left foot. He answered by putting his right foot on top of my left foot. He suprised me. When I looked up, he smiled at me.

"You have big feet," I said.

"And big . . . shoes," he answered, laughing at himself.

"What do you want to do today?"

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to run your wife's route with you. I'd like to know where it happened."

I was suprised and vexed. I thought the request odd and feared it'd be painful for me, although I was not sure why. I ran the route almost every day.

"Okay," I said. "What about after that?"

"Nothing. Just hang out. I've never lived like this. I feel like a King."

"Then hang out it is. I have to do some work after breakfast, but I should be finished by lunch."

"Awesome. Maybe we can learn a new stroke today."

I looked up. He didn't appear to be using a double entendre. He was talking about swimming.

When I finished my work, he was dressed and ready for the run. When we got to the spot, I stopped, and he stopped beside me. As I crossed myself, he put his hand on my shoulder and leaned his head against my arm. He mumbled something that sounded prayerful, said "I'll leave you two be," and started off. He needn't have. I didn't think of Jess as there. I caught up to him quickly. We ran home in complete silence. As expected, it had been painful for some reason, so I went directly to my room to regroup.

When I emerged, Luke was already in the pool. Since he hadn't asked for my help, I knew he did not have any sunscreen on his back.

"Hey, Guppy," I called. "Out of the pool."

"Why?"

"What's the rule?"

"Oh crap, sunscreen."

"That's right, sunscreen."

Luke climbed out of the pool, walked toward me, and stopped right in front of me. He spread his legs and arms and stood there like a scarecrow.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

"I'm wet. Do it for me."

"Everywhere?"

"Everywhere."

I grabbed a towel and dabbed his skin dry. I squirted some cream in my hand and rubbed my hands together. I started with his face, gently covering his forehead and his cheeks and his temples. I moved to his ears and to his neck. I added more cream and moved to his shoulders and arms.

"Raise your arms," I said. He did, and I covered his arm pits and sides. He squirmed as I ran my hands down his sides.

I looked at him with a question on my face. "Keep going," he answered.

I added more cream. I worked over his chest and stomach before moving behind him and covering his back. I was taking my time, hardly believing what I was doing and being extremely detailed in my work.

I kneeled behind him and covered the back of his thighs and his calves. His round backside was right in my face, and as I put pressure on his legs, he arched his back for balance. When he did, his backside raised toward me. It was all I could do not to bite it.

I moved back to the front. I kneeled in front of him and started at his thighs. His board shorts were too thin to hide that he was enjoying my hands on him. I turned my head from what stood before me. If I hadn't, I'd have put my mouth on him, through the shorts. I worked his calves and the tops of his feet.

"There," I said, standing back up and breathing for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"My turn," he answered, taking the tube from me. "But you're too tall. You have to lay down."

"Lie down," I corrected.

"You have to lie down."

I did, on my stomach first. Luke attacked me from above, his hands working over my neck and back and sides. As he reached, I could feel him hard against the top of my head.

He worked each of my legs from the top also. He stood beside me as he did, his hip pressing into mine. He moved below me to do my calves.

"Over," he said, his voice cracking.

"Okay," I said. "But, I'm, uh, boned up."

"That's okay," he said. "I am, too."

I rolled over, reached inside my shorts, and pulled myself straight up so I was as inconspicuous as I could be. I kept my eyes closed so I could resist the urge to look at Luke's erection.

Luke started at my feet. He was meticulous. His fingers were between my toes and then on the dorsal. I tingled all over as he moved up my legs, over my stomach, through my chest and neck, and to my face. He was back above me, and his thumbs were gently protecting my eyelids, my nose, even my lips. When he was finished, I was simultaneously totally relaxed and completely anxious.

I raised up and shielded my eyes as I heard Luke break the water. I looked down and saw that I was sticking out of the top of my shorts. "Cussword," I thought to myself. "I hope he didn't see that."

I joined Luke in the pool. "I really enjoyed that," I said.

"I could tell."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. I've seen plenty. I'm in the Army, remember. We share showers."

"Do you masturbate?"

"Not in the showers."

"No, I mean generally. You said your parents were strict. I'm sure they taught you it was sinful."

"They did. Actually, they taught me the only time it was okay to touch yourself was when you're peeing or washing. Otherwise, your privates are off-Iimits."

"There's no way a teenaged boy can not masturbate."

"I have, but I try not to. I was kind of a late bloomer. My first time, I shot all over. I thought there was something wrong, but I didn't have anyone to talk to about it. I finally asked another kid at school. He couldn't believe I had just started. He had been at it for years."

"It's not sinful."

"I know. But, now, there's not just much opportunity. Some guys don't care if everyone knows they're doin' it. I ain't . . . I'm not that way. I can't do it if I'm not alone. And, I don't like doin' it in a stall. It seems weird to do it where you leave your waste."

"You ready to try?" I asked, changing the subject, but without Luke knowing it.

"Try what?" he asked, blanching and then turning red.

"The breast stroke. That is what you're learning today, right?"

"Oh, right. I wasn't sure what you meant."

"That's what I meant," I answered. It really was, at least a little.

Luke did not take to the breast stroke the way he had to freestyle. He kept taking on mouthfulls of water and coming up choking and coughing. When he finally got it, we had been going at it for hours, and we were both frustrated and tired.

"Let's go out tonight."

"To a restaurant?"

"Yes."

"Awesome. I've hardly ever done that."

"Well, then we'll make an evening of it. We can get dressed up and make it grand."

"I don't really have any dress up clothes."

"We'll go get some. You need them anyway."

"You've already done enough."

"I'm going to do more than enough. I'm a rich man, Guppy. Not because of anything I did. Because my grandfather was smart and because my wife died. Let me do this. I really want to."

"Okay, but only if you really want to," he answered, mocking me.

"I do."

I put on a red shirt, black slacks, and black loafers. I then took Luke to Brooks Brothers. We got him a pair of light khakis made with silk, two striped shirts, a belt, and loafers. When he showed me the ensemble, I made a couple of adjustments.

"Let's switch to plain front slacks," I told the salesman. "And, let's go with lighter shoes and a lighter belt."

"The pleated slacks provide more room in the front," he answered. I knew why.

"Plain front," I insisted.

After we checked out, we ducked into the salon next door. "I need a little product for my friend," I said to Ty, who had been cutting my hair until I quit cutting it. Ty responded by looking at me in disbelief.

"Jammer, that mess of a head of yours needs some love. Come see me. We'll just trim it up a bit. You'll keep your beautiful curls, but lose some of the mess."

"I will. Soon. I promise. But, until then, can you dab some product in Luke's hair, part it on the left, and comb it back?"

"Sure thing," he answered. In no time, Luke looked like he was out of a catalog.

"I feel like a mannequin," he said, as we walked back to my car.

"You look like a model."

We dined at J. Gilbert's. We were gluttonous. Luke was more thrilled by the fact they served him wine than he was by the new threads and the glorious steak. Every time they refilled his glass, he held his breath.

"Keep that up, and you'll give yourself away."

"I'll be 21 soon."

"Act like you are now if you want the Opus One to keep coming."

"It's good."

Not too good for you, I thought to myself. Not too good for you.