Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Mace and I started hanging out every Monday night after the gym. We talked our way through dinners and drinks and long walks. Once Mace got going, he was an open book. He told me about his little sister, how lost he was after she died, and how disappointed he had been when none of his college friends had shown up for her funeral. I wanted to take his hand as he talked, but I resisted.

He told me about Freddie, the friend he had fooled around with on John. I chided him when he did, reminding him he had told me I'd "want to forsake all others" when I fell in love.

"I wanted to," he said. "I just couldn't. I'm human, too."

He paused, looked at me like he was going to confess how horrible he had felt after cheating on John, and smiled a devilish smile. "Plus, Freddie had a really nice dick." We both laughed at his mischief.

I had less than a week left in my game. I thought of telling him about it. But, I didn't. It just seemed too crass at that point.

Mace smelled of vanilla. It had to be in his soap or his lotion. It was faint, but it was certainly there.

I had vanilla in my kitchen cabinet. I started dabbing it in my chest hair before I jacked off. I liked smelling Mace when I came.

*****

I took Avery and Bruce to dinner to "celebrate" my loss. I thought of inviting Mace, but I didn't want him to know that I had bet that I could bag him in less than thirty days. I took a ton of shit at dinner before Avery and Bruce accused me of giving up.

"I didn't give up."

"You did," Bruce intoned. "You decided you wanted him as a friend, not as prey."

"I didn't decide anything. He's in love."

"That's never stopped you before."

They were right. I had ignored wedding rings and other evidence of coupling as I fucked or was fucked by someone's husband, lover, or beau. I rationalized that it was not my job to enforce whatever outdated contract or construct in which they were invested. If they were willing to ignore it, I was just as willing.

I didn't think that way with Mace. I didn't prey upon him when he was drunk or lonely. I didn't try to erode his resistance or his will. I let him be. I tried to be his friend.

I did think what Mace was trying for with John was ridiculous. As I mentioned, I didn't understand gays who sought the hetero construct of monogamy that was outdated and unmoored from its original purpose. I especially didn't understand trying to do it cross-country with someone who refused to accept or admit he was gay.

I thought Mace was setting himself up for another bitter fall. I thought John had revealed who he truly was when he had tried let Mace go. Sure, he had returned, too weak to permanently sever the tie that bound. But, I was certain he'd let Mace go again. John would never give Mace what he wanted, even if I was convinced he was a fool for wanting it.

I kept those thoughts from Mace. I liked being his friend, and I feared unedited honesty would repel him.

*****

The more time I spent with Mace, the more I looked forward to spending time with him. Looking back, I think it was his midwestern-ness. Mace seemed utterly without guile. He wasn't pretending to be someone or something he wasn't, and he wasn't interested in those who were. He was comfortable in his own skin, unlike so many of the guys I had bedded. He was not on the make. He was who he was.

He rubbed off on me. Especially when it was just the two of us, I let my guard down. I felt more me with him than I felt with anyone else, even Avery and Bruce, who I had been friends with for years.

Obviously, I was smitten with him. It took a long time for me to admit it to myself; it didn't take nearly as long for Avery and Bruce to diagnose me. They thought it was hilarious. The one who always got what he wanted couldn't get the only one he wanted.

I tried to keep my feelings from Mace. It was hard, as Mace was a naturally affectionate person. We embraced regularly. I inhaled him whenever we did.

While we were sitting at dinner one night, he offered that I had beautiful hands. I held up my right hand to look at it. I was vainglorious, but I had never really focused on my hands.

"What makes a hand beautiful?" I asked.

He told me to put my hand down, and I did. He complimented my nails, tracing them with his fingertip as he did. He talked about the hair between each knuckle, and then the hair on the back. Apparently, he thought it was just the right amount. Then, he turned my hand over and traced the callouses. He concluded they were strong, man hands, but nevertheless beautiful.

I got turned on as he described my hand and touched it. I folded my hand around his, my brown skin contrasting sharply with his, and looked directly into his eyes, smiling. Mace smiled back at me and asked "what?"

I couldn't help myself. "John's lucky," I said.

"So am I."

I should have left it there. But, I either couldn't or wouldn't.

"I'm not sure. I think you deserve more. And, I'm saying that as your friend, not John's rival." I have no idea why I had added "not John's rival." I don't think Mace had thought for one moment up to that point that I wanted to be John's rival. For some reason, I had just laid it out there.

Mace had too much grace to say anything. But, he pulled his hand from mine and looked pensive.