Chapter 11 – Chapter 11

We never discussed it, but we were not in contact outside of our in person meetings. We didn't call each other. We didn't email each other. And we didn't text each other.

So, I was aching for him when he walked into our restaurant at 5:15 on Tuesday, perfectly punctual. I had hoped I could steal extra time, so I had arrived early in case he did too. As he approached our table, he surprised me with a small smile and a wink.

He didn't flirt with his drink this time. As soon as it was delivered, he put it to his mouth and took a big swig.

"Someone's thirsty," I said.

"Nope," he said, taking another swig so big that he finished his drink. "Just in a hurry. Drink up. It's finally nice out. I want to go for a walk. With you."

I chugged my drink, overpaid with a twenty, and followed him out the door.

"I like being outside," he said, his natural pace a little faster than mine.

"Me, too," I answered, matching my stride to his so we stayed next to each other.

We walked away from campus, toward the Capitol State Trail. For a long time, we walked in silence. I wondered what he was thinking. I know what I was thinking: I wish I could hold your hand. Or take your arm.

He was more comfortable with silence than I was.

"How had you really never French kissed before?"

"I figured that was coming. I'm pretty staid, Harold, current evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. I mean, I lost my virginity on my honeymoon."

"But, you had to have girlfriends. You had to make out."

"Not really. I mean, I was aware of the concept. But, the notion of tongues touching and 'swapping spit' always nauseated me a bit."

"It didn't seem to nauseate you with me."

"The idea did a bit. The actuality didn't at all. I've never been kissed or kissed like that. It was a watershed."

"What did Claire think, when you did it to her for the first time?"

"I don't know. We don't talk about such things. We're pretty conventional."

"How conventional?"

"Conventional…. You know…. Natural."

"So missionary?"

"Yes."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

"Oral?"

"No."

"Have you ever? Received oral, I mean."

"No."

"Oh…. Wow…. You should…. It's amazing."

"I don't think Claire would consider it. And, even if she did, I don't think I'd let her. I'm not sure I could kiss her after she had my thing in her mouth."

I stopped and stopped him with my hand on his arm.

"JJ, I don't mean to pop your balloon, but you know I've had things — penises — in my mouth before, right? Like a lot of them."

"That's different."

"It's not."

"It is to me."

"You can tell yourself whatever you want. But, it's not."

"How many?"

"How many what?"

"Penises…. In your mouth?"

I blanched. I was afraid my answer would be the end of whatever we were doing.

He tried to mollify me. "I won't judge. I promise."

"I don't know. I honestly don't. I haven't kept track."

"Ten?"

I burst out laughing. "Ten? At least ten times ten."

"Wow."

"Don't."

"I mean, that's a lot of penises."

"I'm twenty-seven years old. I've been sexually active since I started college, so… eight years? When you divide the number by the time, it's really not so many."

I could see him doing the math. "One per month?"

I smiled. "I said at least ten times ten, not just 'ten times ten'. I suspect it's more like one per week. So, eight years times 52 weeks is…."

I stopped myself. I was embarrassed by the product of the factors.

"416."

"I know the answer…. I just couldn't say it. Oh my God."

"I promised you 'no judgment'," he said, as we started to walk again. "But, for the record, that's a lot of blow jobs."

"Oh, there were way more blow jobs than that. There were tons of repeats."

"How many, do you think?"

"Three or four per so…. "

"The numbers you are looking for are 1,248 and 1,664. And, that's a lot of blow jobs."

I playfully punched him in the arm. I thought about offering that, if I had met him when W's re-election turned me gay, then I'd be at only one penis, but probably at more blow jobs. But, I didn't want to touch that rail. So, I decided to give him a primer on how I viewed sex.

"I like sex. A lot. I think it's fantastic. And, I don't think it has to be imbued. It can be, but it doesn't have to be. I am pretty modern in my views."

"Perhaps. Or, perhaps you are a bit self-indulgent in your views. Either way, I'm afraid I'm atavistic in mine."

"I don't know. The Greeks and Romans are pretty ancient, but their views were not yours. If I'm self-indulgent, then you're self-deprivising. I'd rather indulge than deprive."

"Obviously."

I figured he'd tell me deprivising was not a word, that the word for which I was looking was depriving. He didn't. We just walked on, my made up word soaring around us, looking for a place to land.

"So, no French kissing, no blow jobs…. Have you ever gone down on your wife?"

"No. I've never tried, and I don't think she'd allow it if I did."

"You are staid…. There's so much you don't know."

"Perhaps it's better if I don't know what I don't know."

It was dark and substantially colder when we turned to head back to our cars. We had a longish walk. I pulled my coat into my chin. JJ did the same.

"Are you bored with it?" I asked, a few steps on. "Your sex life, I mean."

"How could I be? I don't know anything else."

"Do you think she would do more? If you asked her to?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Harold, I'm going to share something with you, but you must vault it and never open the vault."

"Alright."

"Claire and I have a biblical marriage. If one of us wants to have relations, the other must accede. But, she does not enjoy it when we have relations. She says it makes her feel base and vulnerable. So, I'm very respectful of her and her boundaries. I will never let her believe that I'm dissatisfied or want more than she wants."

At our cars, I was plaintive. "I really want to kiss you goodnight."

"No."

"Too public?"

"No," he answered, smiling widely under his eyes, mischief visible in them and in his dimples. "Too many penises."

I fake-punched his chest, he grabbed my fist, looked furtively left and right, moved like he was going to kiss me, and then stopped.

"Follow me," he said, pushing me back a step and heading back into our restaurant.

I followed him through the dining room and into the men's room. As soon as I was inside the door, he pinned me against it and kissed the shit out of me, his tongue lashing against mine, his body pressing against mine. For the first time, I felt his erection against my thigh, straight down. Just as I was pressing back against him, he pulled back, kissed my nose, and whispered, "I don't think I could taste any of them. I'm not sure, because I've never tasted one, but I don't think I could."

He was gone before I caught my breath. I laughed when I did.