Chapter 3

Joe turns to me, “Even if we don’t play a game, would you take a few more shots before you go? I want to record you and study the video.”

Mac leans in close and says, “I’ll be taking more videos as well.”

I give Mac a playful shove. “I’d be happy to, Joe.” I put a hand on his shoulder, “Just so you know, there’s a reason I never joined the team. I stink on defense and I have rotten footwork. I can shoot, but I turn the ball over all day long. If you want to win, pick your dad. He can beat Mac and me with his eyes closed.”

“I play with him every day,” Joe says dismissively. “I don’t care if I win. We don’t even have to keep score. I just want you to shoot more. If you were on my team, I’d pass you the ball every time. Remember what I said about having fun?”

I can’t say no to that kid. “All right Joe. You got it.” Knowing Jonah was a forward in high school, I tell Joe, “But you have to take the front court, okay? You can teach me how to play down low.”

His smile is exploding now, “Deal!” He flips the ball to his dad and dashes inside.

All three of us are left grinning in his wake.

Mac drives us home. It’s easy to forget that this is his first-time driving stick shift. He’s a natural. It’s actually kind of freaky how easily things just come to him. It’s slightly annoying too. Irksome. A red light turns green and we jerk a little as he finds the clutch’s release point. He’ll smooth things out with a little more practice.

“Jonah has a nice little life set up there.”

Mac laughs, “Don’t.”

“Just don’t. There’s a list of things you can’t pull off. Add that to the list.”

“I’ll ignore dat,” I say grinning.

“Wow. Didn’t you ever learn you’re not supposed to antagonize the driver?”

I laugh. “You’re just grumpy because Joe and I kicked your ass in basketball.”

“Don’t make me pull this car over!”

I’m still laughing. “I sank teardrop after teardrop and all you could do was sit there and wipe away your own teardrops, watching my three-pointers rain down on you.”

“You are so going to pay when we get home.” He glances at me, unable to conceal his smile, “You do realize that I wasn’t really guarding you, right? The kid wanted to see you shoot, so for his sake, I let you.”

“Ooh…you ‘let’ me.” I make air quotes around the word “let”.

“Wow. If he had wanted to see me completely shut you down with dominating defense, believe me, he could have seen that show too. I would have been on you like glove. Like a cheap suit. You were basically playing HORSE alone in the open court.”

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself to be able to sleep tonight.”

Mac just shakes his head. I’ve poked the bear.

Back at the apartment, Mac hands me a beer.

He says, “You earned it.”

I take the cold, drippy bottle, “When I mopped the floor with you playing basketball?”

His head drops like a marionette who’s string was just cut. “I already told you I’d get you back when we got home. How bad do want to make it?”

“Maybe we should invite the neighbors over. I think I could use some witnesses.”

“Or maybe my revenge will come in the fitness center tomorrow morning.”

“No! Please! I’m sorry!” I plead, “I was just kidding. You heard me tell Joe that I have no ballhandling skills. You’re crazy competitive and I was just teasing you. It was all a joke.”

“That’s more like it.” He places his hand on my right leg above the knee and squeezes. I squeal and my leg kicks out. He grabs my ankle with his other hand and contemplates my captured, socked foot. “I accept your apology but you still deserve a small punishment.”

His grip is strong and I can’t pull free, though I admit I don’t try too hard. He keeps ahold of my ankle and uses his other hand to stroke up and down the arch of my foot three times. I squirm as I stifle a scream. He releases me and I relax. Mac has no way of knowing this, but I am extremely ticklish. And not just my feet.

It’s almost like he’s reading my mind. He gets a maniacal look in his eye and suddenly he’s on me. He has me on my back and he straddles me just below the waist. Mac is significantly stronger than me and he easily pins both of my wrists together in just his left hand and raises my arms high above my head.

I figure that telling him I’m ticklish will make this worse rather than better, so I say nothing as I twist and writhe under his weight.

With my arms way above my head, my shirt has ridden up to my ribcage and the full expanse of my stomach is exposed. I can feel the cool air of the room and Mac’s eyes on my skin. It’s like his eyes and round innie belly button are in a staring contest with each other.

He places his free right hand on my stomach and I inhale sharply. His big strong hand begins to examine my soft, innocent stretched out tummy, like he’s checking fruit for ripeness. He prods, squeezes and pokes all around as I laugh and tears stream down my face. It tickles so much that I’m gasping for breath, afraid I might pass out. Next, he swipes back and forth across my lower abdomen, above the waistband of my shorts and I quiver from the sensation. I just barely manage to not scream.

Suddenly, Mac stops his attack. Like he just realized something. I am now horrified as I realize what he already realized — I am rock hard and my erection is pressing against Mac’s ass as he still straddles me.

He releases my hands and moves off me. Clearing his throat, he says, “That’s enough punishment for today, but I hope you learned you lesson. Next time, I won’t be so nice.” He sips his beer, “Next time, the socks come off.” He gives me a wink.

I think I hope there is a next time.

Today, it hits me. The pain. Excruciating, blinding pain in my…everything. I’ve never been in a sauna, in a hot tub or had a massage but right now, I need all three. I pour myself out of bed and stumble into the hall, like a baby giraffe taking its first tentative steps.

Mac laughs when he sees me, “I thought today might be the day.”

I glare at him, “Did you now?” I try to straighten, but I can’t. “You did this to me.” What the fuck? Even my eyebrows hurt.

“It’s never the first day after a hard workout, it’s always the second day.” He’s enjoying this.

“Mmm hmm. Right. It’s also the first day after the last day.”

“No, Alexander! Quitting is not an option. In a day or two, the pain will be gone and you’ll be stronger than ever.”

“I would punch you so hard right now, but I can’t move my arm.”

Mac chortles, “I bet you’re thinking you want to take today off from working out.”

My eyes widen, “Are you insane? ‘Want’ has nothing to do with it. I’ll probably need help wiping my own ass later.”

He barks out another laugh and hooks his arm around my shoulders. “If you think that’s a real possibility, might I suggest fasting today? Or at least a liquid diet?”

I snort. “Fuck. Don’t make me laugh. It’s like a knife stabbing me everywhere.”

He says, “The worst thing you can do today is to do nothing. Movement is key. Why do you think you weren’t sore until after a night of still sleep?”

“I slept the previous night and was fine yesterday.” I try to look at him, but I seriously can’t turn my head. “You’re just making this shit up as you go, aren’t you? You don’t know.”

“I might have read something, somewhere, sometime.”

“Let me take you out for breakfast. After that, we’ll go for a walk on the Prairie Path. You can have one day off from the weights.”

“You are too kind. Whatever did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess.”

He’s still smiling at me, still enjoying this way too much. I can’t help it. I smile back. I think I am lucky.

We walk for several miles and I’m loosening up ever so slightly. When we get back to his apartment, Mac leads me to my room and tells me to lie face-down on my bed. It takes some effort but eventually, I do. He starts to massage my neck, shoulders and back. We didn’t talk about this and I didn’t ask for it, he’s just doing it. He slips the shirt right off me and goes to work in earnest.

He works up and down both sides of my spine before moving on to my biceps and shoulders. Next, he works my thighs and his strong hands work lower, across my calves before finding their way inside of my socks. Then my socks are off and he’s doing things to my feet that I never thought were possible. He’s not tickling me, but my feet are like clay and he’s a sculptor. I’m 28, but I’ve never been massaged before. Oh, have I been missing out, though I suspect that half the pleasure comes from knowing it’s Mac doing these things to me.

Eventually, he tells me to flip over. Despite the bulge in my shorts, I do as I’m told. Mac works his way up from my feet, up my shins, rubs my knees, kneads at my thighs and his hands work their way higher inside the legs of my shorts. He’s still not tickling me, but twice his finger tips graze my scrotum, causing me to gasp and flinch.

He then massages each arm from my hands up to my shoulders. Who knew that rubbing hands could feel so good? He finishes by lavishing attention on my chest and stomach. Again, no tickles, but he strokes and caresses my torso making my cock so tight in my shorts, I feel like I’ll bust through like the Incredible Hulk.

The hurt has replaced by tingles and I know I couldn’t suppress several embarrassing groans of pleasure.

When it’s over, Mac walks out of my room without a word. I check my phone and realize that my straight friend Mac just spent more than 2 hours touching and caressing his gay friend in a very intimate fashion.

I hate to admit it, but Mac was right. The next morning and I’m hardly sore at all. His massage and the million miles of walking we cured me. That was my first massage…ever. I had never been touched like that by anybody before in my life. His fingers, his hands and his arms were magical. He knew when and where to be rough and aggressive. He knew when and where to be tender and gentle.

Later that day, I meet my brother and his girlfriend for lunch. He asks me all about my first week back and tells me that his couch is still available if I change mind.

Aside from buying the first car I’ve ever owner, all I’ve done so far is spend time with and reconnect with Mac. As I update my brother, I realize that I can’t stop smiling. The kid sees it too. He calls me on it.

I say, “There’s nothing going on there. Mac is my friend. My best friend. My straight best friend.” Right?

My brother’s only reply is a cocked eyebrow.

In the parking lot, I show him my car. My brother is three years younger than me and gets a kick out rubbing that in. Yes, I’m still in my twenties, but I’m the butt of his old-man jokes, despite the fact that our older brother is 32. He tells me that my car is too cool for me and that between the sporty car, moving back home and being unemployed, it’s obvious I’m going through a midlife crisis.

I’m about to argue that I’ve only been “unemployed” for less than two weeks and after a huge buyout that’s allowing me to take some time off after not having a vacation in 5 years. I’m about to say all of that, but I notice the huge grin his face. He’s just giving me shit like brothers do.

I give him a playful shove, then hug them both goodbye.

That evening, Mac and I are in my car, headed to dinner. Since teaching him stick a couple days ago, Mac insists on driving everywhere we go together.

I watch my friend grip the gear shift and I’m jealous of my own car. In middle and high school, I focused on Mac the friend and pushed away all thoughts about Mac the cute guy. Having reconnected with him as an adult, I’m kind of crushing on him hard.

I tell him, “This is the most serious question of the day. Think carefully before you answer. Do you think this is a midlife-crisis car?”

Mac chuckles, “Is that what your bother said? You can do better than sixty. Let’s call it a third-life-crisis.”

He laughs, “Who cares? I love this car. Whether or not you bought it to prove something is just a matter of perception. I’m sure your brother was just giving you shit…like brothers do.”

“You’re right. I don’t care what he says. But if you think I look like an idiot in this car, I-“

“You don’t.” We pull into the parking lot. “You’re only 28. We’re only 28. And look at you all baby-faced. You could pass for a college student. Call it a quarterlife-crisis.”

I sigh, “But why is it a crisis at all? It’s the first car I’ve ever owned. I just bought the car I wanted.”

Mac sighs back, “It’s not. I’m sorry. I just like seeing you squirm.”

Echoing Mac from the other night I say, “I accept your apology, but you still deserve a small punishment.”

“I look forward to your attempt.”

The restaurant is really nice. And pricey. Mac ordered an appetizer and I pop a shrimp thing in my mouth. It’s exquisitely delicious. We each have glasses of both red and white wine. I am no sommelier, but I think I’m meant to sip the white wine with seafood. It goes down smooth and easy. I’m not a big wine drinker but it’s probably the best wine I’ve ever had so I know it must be expensive. To my unsophisticated palate, wine can taste like paint thinner.